


worse things have happened at sea

by words_unravel



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Young Veins
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Running Away, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Cassie had been in love with this stupid bed and breakfast though, and Jon's just desperate enough to think that staying here will help him somehow.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ _prompt:_ initially started for [NaNoWriMo](http://www.nanowrimo.org) 2010, completed for 2011 [Bandom Big Bang](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/), Wave 1]
> 
> [ _warning(s):_ off-screen character death (beginning of story)]
> 
> [ _note to the mods:_ I would like to extend a very grateful hand to the mods who continue to run this challenge and help keep bandom alive. Also for the fact that when technical difficulties kept me from posting on my initial date, they were kind enough to allow me the time needed to remedy that. I would also like to extend apologies to my mixer and artist – the world should have seen your amazing works much sooner! (That being said, always, _always_ make sure to back up your stuff and not be a dope like me.)]
> 
> [ _fic notes:_ This fic is a fairly different turn for me. Jon-centric and mostly gen, it was definitely a challenge to write a character that has gone through so much loss and becomes lost in the ensuing sadness. But it was fun to write a town bent on helping pull him out of that place! Lorelei Springs gets its obvious inspiration from Stars Hollow and it was a blast creating it, I’m not going to lie. Hopefully you will enjoy it, too!]

The last thing Jon remembers, before everything goes black, is Cassie screaming his name. It's hard to hear though, over the sound of screeching metal and breaking glass.

But that's okay, Jon hears it every night in his sleep clearly enough.

~

Jon wakes.

Cassie's voice won't let him rest in the dark; he's taken to sleeping during the day, prowling his apartment late at night and into the first traces of dawn. It takes a moment before he realizes that the phone on his night stand is steadily vibrating its way across the dark wood.

His fingers fumble the phone, body disoriented from the abrupt awakening and the leftover effects of the pills. Without looking at the screen, he mumbles, "'lo?"

_Jon?_

"Hey, Mom." Jon can hear the slur to his words. He doesn't really care.

 _Jon–_ Her drawn breath trembles on the air.

"I'm fine, Mom, I promise."

_I don't think that's true, baby. I know you think you are, but Jon, it's 7:30 at night and you're obviously just waking up. And I haven't seen you since the–_

Jon blinks rapidly at the abrupt wetness gathering in his eyes and fights the bile that rises every time he thinks of Cassie, of the heavy silver casket they'd lowered into the ground thirteen days ago.

"I'm fine," he repeats. It's the biggest lie he's ever told his mother. "Listen, Ma, I gotta go–"

 _Jonathan,_ please _–_ There are tears in his mother's voice and any second he feels like he's going to lose it, just cry and scream and beg his mom to make everything all right again. Instead he whispers, "Love you, Ma," and hangs up, turning the phone off just as it starts ringing again.

The street lights cast odd shadows on the wall of his room and he can hear the cars as the drive past, the quiet murmur of people throughout his building. Signs of life.

Jon turns away, curling up on his side and stares at the wall. There's a band across chest, making it hard to breath, and he focuses on each breath, focuses on pulling each draw of air deep into his lungs. It's strange how something as simple as breathing is so hard lately.

His vision begins to blur and he gasps in a deep breath. There are a million cracks inside him, barely holding together, and any second could be the one, the breaking point, where he finally shatters. Jon takes another breath, waiting.

 

In the end he doesn't fall apart and life continues on. Some semblance of it anyway.

>>*<<

  
Jon's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, but the road isn't well-paved and each time he's nearly asleep, the taxi hits another hole. A few minutes later, they finally pull up to a small, but stately property. It's nearly dark, but the front porch is already awash in a soft glow. He thinks they might actually be lanterns. In his head, he can hear Cassie's voice, high with excitement.

Shaking off that thought, Jon gets out of the car. He's been on the road off and on for three days and it takes a moment to get his legs under him again. The sounds of the driver getting his bag out of the trunk echo in the open air and Jon stares at the building in front of him. For the millionth time, he wonders what the hell he's doing.

But Cassie had been in love with this stupid bed and breakfast though, and Jon's just desperate enough to think that staying here will help him somehow. He pays the taxi driver and heads inside with his bag.

~

The proprietor, Mrs. Bryar, is young and blonde. She's got a sweet smile that makes Jon want to turn around and walk back out the door. There must be something of that on his face because she lets it fall off her face and steps up, offering a brisk, "How may I help you tonight?"

"I, uh, had reservations–" She pops open her ledger and Jon finishes with a quiet, "–for a Mr. & Mrs. Walker."

He's quite proud that his voice doesn't shake at all, but then Mrs. Bryar looks up and asks, "And Mrs. Walker?" He tries three times before he can actually swallow. Not trusting his voice, he merely shakes his head and refuses to look anywhere but at her left shoulder.

Her eyes soften in sympathy and Jon wants shout with laughter. It would be harsh and unfunny, but it might help him explain that he didn't get left at the altar or some shit. At least then, Cassie would be alive and there would be hope.

There's the click of fingernails on the keyboard, and Jon finally tunes back in as she tells him, "I've put you in a more comfortable portion of the house, Mr. Walker. It's smaller and gives a bit more privacy seeing as it's toward the back." A slight frown appears between her eyes and she asks, "Are you allergic to cats, Mr. Walker?"

That's random enough that Jon finally looks _at_ her.

"Um, no." He quite likes them actually, but hadn't had one since he was in high school. Cassie was more of a dog person.

Mrs. Bryar looks relieved. "Oh good. I hope you don't mind, but sometimes GiGi likes to think that she's the queen of this particular room." She grins at him, "And feel free to put her right on out, if you need to. Okay?"

Jon nods his head dumbly. This isn't quite what he was expecting. A moment later, she pulls a couple of papers off the printer that must be hidden below the counter and turns them around for Jon to sign. He's scheduled for ten days.

"I'm supposed to leave on Saturday, but, um–" He flounders, not quite sure what exactly he wants.

"It's our slow season right now, so we'd be more than happy to have you should you decide you want to extend your visit." Her eyes are bright, sparkling, as she adds, "If you're not careful, Mr. Walker, we might even put you to work. It's really easy to fall into a rhythm here, become a part of it."

 _Rhythm._ He and Cassie had a rhythm, easy and light; one that he's been lost without these last few months. Looking back down at the counter, Jon murmurs, "I appreciate that, Mrs. Bryar."

From the corner of his eye, he sees her hand reach out, and moves his own back instinctively. It ends up resting on the counter, near but not quite touching his. He looks up again to see her smile softly at him, nothing but kindness in her face as she tells him, "Greta, please. We're anything but formal around here."

Maybe, just maybe, Jon was right in coming here.

~

Two days later, Jon leaves the room for the first time. Opening the door, he takes two steps and literally runs into a pile of sheets. The pile of sheets says, "Oof!" and then a dark head pops up.

"Oh hey, Lincoln room guy! Hi!"

The bright, wide smile startles Jon but after a second he smiles back. It's small and feels a bit rusty. Laundry Guy's smile widens even more and they just stand there staring at each other. Finally, Jon clears his throat, looking down the hallway.

"Oh! Oh, man, sorry!" He looks abashed, lifting the laundry in his hands. "The guests in the China room just left, so I thought I'd get the room cleaned up." The smile falls. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Everything kind of blurs together, the kid's talking so fast. Jon just shakes his head.

"That's good." The grin reappears. "Greta _hates_ it when I wake the guests up."

Jon raises an eyebrow, curious. "Does that happen often? You waking the guests?"

"Oh." The kid looks shiftily to the left before he raises a shoulder. "Um, not as often as it could?"

That makes Jon chuckle and Laundry Guy's smile widens even further. It's a nice smile, kind of catching.

They're back to standing in the hallway, staring at each other. After a moment, Jon motions down the hall. "I guess I should go see if there's any breakfast–"

"Yeah!" More nodding. "Greta's making biscuits and gravy this morning–"Jon wonders exactly how early it is if she's still baking. "They are literally the best biscuits in the whole state. They won first place at the state fair last year." It makes Jon tired, the speed of the kid's words, the way he's practically vibrating in place with energy.

Jon just nods. "Thanks." Laundry Guy doesn't move and Jon can't get around him without being rude. He glances down the hallway again.

"Brendon."

Shifting his gaze back, Jon says, "What?"

"Me. I'm Brendon." He looks expectant, so Jon finally responds. "Jon. Jon Walker."

"Oh." Brendon's smile softens a little, like he recognizes the name. It makes Jon uncomfortable. Like maybe it's pity he sees in Laun–Brendon's eyes. Looking down, he makes a move to get around Brendon.

"Sorry, sorry." Brendon turns sideways and Jon slips around him. A couple of steps and Brendon says his name again. Turning back around, he meets Brendon's gaze again. "Yeah?"

"Have a good stay, Jon Walker." There's warm sincerity in Brendon's eyes and Jon gives him a small smile. "Thanks." He turns away, moving toward the stairs at the end of the hallway. With one foot on the step, he hears a clatter from behind him. A second later, Brendon's voice calls out, "I'm fine!"

Jon just shakes his head and continues down the stairs.

~

An hour or so later, Jon, ridiculously full, takes a walk around the grounds. Greta's voice is a warm echo in his ears, telling him to head toward the trees at the back of the property. It's a good distance away and Jon's slightly winded by the time he reaches the edge of the woods. The trees aren't very dense here and Jon watches the sunlight dance on the ground, finding its way through the leaves.

It's beautiful.

He wants to capture it, his fingers twitching. He wants his camera.

It's the first time in a month that he's even thought about his camera, left back in Chicago, and his breath catches. Sinking to the ground, he works on breathing.

In.

Out.

Another sound breaks through and Jon startles, unsure of how long he's been kneeling there. Jon lifts his chin, eyes focusing. It sounds like water. He stumbles to his feet–his legs have kind of gone to sleep–and moves toward the sound. It takes about five minutes, but he half-slides, half-walks down a small gully and finds it.

It doesn't look real, Jon thinks. It's like one of those old paintings, the light glinting off the tumble of water. The stream isn't very big; less than three feet across, but it's kind of perfect. The water has cut into the hard soil, enough that when Jon lays down, the bank holds. Resting his chin on one hand, he trails his fingertips over the top of the water. The stream moves fast enough that it jumps and bubbles up, cold against Jon's skin.

He lies there, still, and finally breathes easy.

~

It's not until he shivers that Jon realizes that the sun is on a downward slope. The shadows are longer now, less light crossing the forest floor. With a sigh, he pushes up and dusts himself off, heading back toward the inn. For the moment, there's a sense of calm inside him.

It lasts until he turns around the corner and nearly runs into a ladder, set up against the side of the building. Startled, he reaches out to steady it. Looking up, he finds Brendon staring down at him, eyes wide.

"Jesus, Brendon! I'm sorry–" Jon's heart is pounding against his rib cage. "Are you okay?"

Brendon scrambles down the ladder, hopping off a couple rungs from the bottom to land next to Jon. "It's fine, Jon Walker. I'm fine. I shouldn't have put the ladder so close to the corner. That was stupid. Are _you_ okay?" Jon's head is spinning, Brendon's words tumbling over each other.

"I'm fine," he finally gets out. Brendon's forehead is creased with worry and Jon tells him again, "Really, I'm fine. It just–It just startled me."

Brendon nods, shoulders lowering.

They're back to this morning, standing and staring awkwardly at each other. Jon coughs, asking, "What exactly are you doing?"

Brendon starts, like Jon's voice surprised him, then he smiles widely. "Putting up Halloween lights."

"Halloween lights?" Jon frowns.

"Don't ask," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "Bob has this friend, Frank, right? Bob says he's nothing but a nuisance and yet every year we throw a huge party, lights and all. He always says it's a 'Halloween' party– Brendon makes finger quotes. "But Frank's birthday just happens to be on Halloween, so. You do the math."

"Seriously. Don't let Bob's gruff exterior fool you." Brendon leans in conspiratorially. "Greta totally wears the pants in that relationship."

That startles a laugh out of Jon and Brendon tilts his head to the side, smile widening. He's got kind eyes, Jon thinks and then offers, "Need help?"

Expressive eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

Shrugging, Jon answers, "It's not like I've got any great plans for the evening. Plus–" He points at the sun, sliding on the low end of the day. "You'll need all the help you can get if you want them up before it gets dark."

Brendon nods. "Yeah, yeah, you're totally right. You hold the ladder and pass me those little clippy things?" Brendon's halfway up the ladder already. "I figure we can at least get those up and tomorrow I can drag out the lights. Sound good?" He looks down at Jon, waiting for an answer.

"Oh." Jon smirks up at him. It feels good to feel this loose. "It's my turn to talk now?"

Brendon's eyes narrow, then he huffs, turning his attention back up to the line of the roof. "Just for that Jon Walker, you are totally helping me put up the lights tomorrow."

Jon figures that'll be okay.

~

They're sitting on the side porch, the last of the sun's rays fading on the horizon. Brendon has a bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips. Jon had declined the initial offer of a beer for himself, but gladly accepted the glass of sweet tea when Brendon had reappeared. They sit in companionable silence, Jon relaxing against the stair rail.

Brendon hardly moves, and Jon doesn't think he's been this still since he met him. Granted, that's only been for a day, but he's fairly sure that Brendon isn't still very often.

The sun is all the way down when Brendon says, "Thanks."

Jon looks over at him. He can see the faint outline of Brendon's features. "For?"

There's a flash of white–Brendon's smile–before he responds, "Helping me with Frank's birthday party."

"Don't you mean the Halloween party?"

Brendon snorts. "Of course, yeah."

"It was nice, helping. I haven't–" Jon shrugs even though Brendon probably can't see it. "I haven't really gotten out much the last couple of days."

"I know, I know. Man, I thought I was going to have to fight you to change the linens in your room, but thankfully I didn't."

"Like you could take me." Brendon huffs at that. It feels good to banter. Jon adds, "I'm pretty sure a strong wind could take you. Or a guy running into your ladder."

"I may not be very big, Jon Walker, but I'll have you know that I am scrappy. And I bite." Jon can hear the snap of Brendon's teeth and he laughs silently.

They drift back into a comfortable silence and every so often he can hear Brendon take a swig. Jon hasn't touched alcohol in a while, but a drink sounds nice right now. It surprises him, the sudden realization that he misses the slide of a cold beer.

The porch light comes on, blinding them both temporarily. A second later, Greta's voice drifts over. "All right, time to come in, boys." Brendon's groan breaks off when she adds, "Dinner's up."

"Oh. _Oh_. It's totally pot pie night, isn't it?" Scrambling up, Brendon reaches out to pull Jon up. "Greta makes the best home-made pot pie, I swear. Come on."

Brendon's palm is warm against his as he drags Jon inside, past Greta's fond exasperation and toward the dining room. It's not until they actually enter the room and Brendon lets go, that Jon realizes he'd let Brendon hold his hand the entire time.

Greta comes up behind him then, leading him to a seat across from another gentleman at the table. He's big and blond, frowning at Brendon when he moves to sit in the chair next to him.

"Over there, Urie." He points down a couple of chairs and Brendon looks a little wounded. Jon's about to say something–he's not sure what–when Greta slaps the back of the guy's head. " _Bob._ "

Bob. Greta's husband, Bob, apparently. Brendon beams at Greta. Bob growls. "He always spills something on me."

Greta throws her hands up a little, then gestures toward Jon. "Can we at least pretend like we have a guest present?"

Jon looks around. There's only four place settings. "Are none of the other guests coming?" Greta blushes prettily and looks over at her husband. Setting a hand on his shoulder, she tells Jon, "You're currently our only guest at the moment. The Jameson's checked out this morning."

"They were in the China room?" he guesses and Brendon nods at him.

Greta gives Brendon a pointed look as she slides into her seat next to Bob. Taking the lid off one of the dishes, she scoops a bunch of mashed potatoes and after a moment, Jon holds out his plate. It's a lot. He's about to politely protest when Greta tells him, "You haven't half the meals we've left you, so humor me."

She gives him a warm smile and Jon swallows his protests. The small smile and nod he gives her makes her smile widen. A second later, she dumps another scoop of potatoes on his plate. Brendon whines and she waves the spoon at him, eyes narrowing. Slumping back in his chair, Brendon sighs loudly.

Greta puts some potatoes on Bob's plate and the warmth in his eyes makes Jon swallow hard and look away. Unfortunately, he meets Brendon's gaze. His eyes are soft, sympathetic and Jon looks down at his plate. He's not really that hungry any more.

"Anyway," Greta's voice startles Jon. She finally serves Brendon, saying "It's actually the MacIntyre Room, but Brendon insists on calling it the China room."

"It's got an Asian motif!"

It's an old argument and their voices fade into white noise. He's pushing the remains of his destroyed pot pie when it gets quiet. He looks up to find all three of them staring at him.

"I'm sorry?" His face feels warm.

"I was just wondering if you had any plans tomorrow?" Greta asks. Not for the first time, obviously. Jon shakes his head. "No, not really."

"Well." Greta stands up, starting to clear the table. Jon moves to help, but she waves him back down. Instead, Brendon grabs Jon's plate along with his own and heads into the kitchen. "If you'd like, the Farmer's Market is open in the morning. It's pretty spectacular."

She doesn't look at Jon, doesn't push him, and he relaxes. When she comes around the table, one arm full of dishes, she does put a hand on his shoulder for a moment before moving into the kitchen.

Jon sits there in silence. He glances up to Bob's head down, reading a newspaper. Greta and Brendon are still in the kitchen, the murmur of their voices drifting through the doorway. He's contemplating going up to the room when Bob speaks.

Without lifting his head, he says, "Greta means well, but she's something of a busy body. Always in everyone's business." There's a small smile at the corner of his mouth and an ache starts in Jon's chest. The smile disappears as Bob looks up, right at Jon. "There's something that's haunting you–"

That makes him look away, down at his hands where his fingers are twisting together. He raises his head as Bob adds, "This is a good place to hide, to lick your wounds."

Bob smiles, eyes glancing toward the kitchen as Greta's voice rises. Brendon's tumbles over hers almost immediately, wheedling and placating at the same time. Looking back at Jon, Bob offers, "It worked for me. So, just. Feel free to tell Greta–" There's a small crash and Bob looks up at the ceiling, sighing. "And Brendon, too. Lord."

Jon's just sitting there, trying to make his mouth work, but Bob just keeps going. "Brendon has his own demons, though. So you probably won't actually have much trouble with him. He likes to talk, thinks it distracts people from seeing the truth." Bob offers a smile and Jon just nods.

"Anyway." Bob slides his chair back, standing up. The hand on Jon's shoulder is wider, rougher than the Greta's, but the sentiment in the touch is the same. "Give it shot. The Becketts always seem to have some new ridiculous fruit or vegetable. It's nothing if not entertaining."

It takes a second to realize that Bob is back to talking about the Farmer's Market. Jon nods jerkily and Bob gives his shoulder another light squeeze before letting go. There's another crash from the kitchen, Greta's voice rising again. Bob winces. "I'm out of here." He's gone two seconds later, true to his words, heading in the complete opposite direction of the kitchen.

Brendon comes through the kitchen door a moment later, his face red. He swallows nervously, shifting from one foot to the other in front of Jon's chair. "We should leave now," he tells Jon. It makes Jon want to laugh. He likes that about Brendon; it's been a while since something has made him want to smile at all.

He's about to ask why he should leave when Greta shouts, "I am coming out on the count of five and I do not want to see you anywhere near a dish, Brendon Boyd Urie. One–"

Brendon swallows hard, eyes wide and pleading with Jon. "Come on, Jon. You can't abandon me in my time of need."

"Two–"

"I'm not the one who broke the dishes," Jon responds, but he's rising. Brendon tugs on his arm, toward the direction Bob had escaped. Throwing a look over his shoulder at Greta's, "Three," he tells Jon, "No, but you're a nice guy, Jon Walker. Nice guys help their friends."

Jon concedes that point, surprised to realize that, yeah, Brendon feels like a friend. They hit the other side of the door on five and Brendon sighs in relief. They move toward the back of the inn, to a part that Jon hasn't yet seen. Brendon pulls him out of the hallway and into a large, open room, quaintly decorated. Jon's gaze is immediately drawn to the small, baby grand tucked in the far corner. Brendon notices where's he looking and asks eagerly, "You play?"

Shaking his head, Jon tells him, "Not really. Chopsticks, like everyone else."

The look of disappointment on Brendon's face makes him wish he was better. His instrument had always been the guitar, even though he hasn't really picked one up in a year or so. "Sorry?" he offers Brendon.

He gets a shrug and a quiet, "No biggie." In a more enthusiastic tone, Brendon tells Jon, "Greta plays though. She's got this awesome voice. It's kind of hot." Brendon bumps his shoulder. "But don't tell Bob I said that. I like my legs."

Jon silently agrees, but out loud he says, "But I thought Bob was a big softie?"

"Well, yeah." Brendon flops down on one of the couches, digging in the cushions until he finds a remote. With a triumphant noise, he turns the TV on. "About everything but Greta." His voice is distracted, attention already diverted by the TV. He shuffles through a couple of channels before looking up at Jon. "You gonna sit?"

He really should leave, but something makes his feet stay where they are. It's a sudden realization, that he doesn't actually want to be alone right now. It must show on his face because Brendon's eyes do that softening thing and he pats the cushion next to him.

Jon sits down.

~

With a start, Jon sits straight up. His heart is pounding and he takes a huge gasp of air, trying to catch his breath. Glancing over, he finds Brendon sprawled across the other side of the couch, slumped low. He's out hard, neck at an awkward angle. The TV is still on, but the volume is low. That and the soft glow of the corner lamps mean that someone had been through the room. Probably Greta, Jon thinks. As much as she gives Brendon grief, she's got a total soft spot for him.

Jon glances down. There's a lightweight blanket thrown over him. Apparently, Brendon's not the only one she has a soft spot for. It confuses Jon, a mixture of embarrassment and warmth whirling around his head. Brendon flings out an arm, mumbling. Jon thinks he catches a name in there somewhere, but he's not sure.

Kicking out, Jon mumbles, “Wake up."

Brendon doesn't move.

Jon kicks a little harder.

"Jon Walker, don't be a dick." Brendon says without opening his eyes. It makes Jon laugh.

Brendon finally opens his eyes, sleep-droopy and warm. He smiles over at Jon, but it turns into a huge yawn. Jon drags himself to his feet, blanket in his arms. He nudges Brendon's foot with his own. "Bedtime, Bden."

Brendon's eyes snap wide open at that and he stares at Jon. For a moment, there's a look of longing so intense that it makes Jon uncomfortable and he looks away. "Sorry. I just–I have a bad habit of shortening people's names. I won't–"

"No!" Brendon jumps up, half-tangled up in his own blanket. Shaking his head, Brendon offers, "It's just been a while since someone called me that? It startled me, that's all."

The skepticism must show on his face because Brendon says again, voice low, "It's cool, Jon. Please."

That last please sounds more like a plea than permission and Brendon's doing that vibrating in one place thing again. It makes Jon want to reassure him. He reaches out, putting a hand on Brendon's shoulder. "Brendon."

There's a small noise in the back of Brendon's throat. Jon's hand moves in, curling around the back of Brendon's neck. "Bden, come on. It's okay." Brendon stills, eyes closing.

Frowning, Jon just stares. Brendon's a good-looking kid, dark hair, warm eyes, and wide, generous mouth. With a sigh, Brendon finally opens his eyes.

"Sorry. Sometimes, I just–" He shrugs, "I can't stop?"

All Jon can do is nod. "We're both tired obviously. We should head to bed."

Brendon leers. "Why, Jon Walker, are you propositioning me?" He steps back though, putting space between the two of them, and bends down to pick up his fallen blanket.

Jon folds his own blanket, running his fingers over the soft material. "Nope, sorry. I sleep alone." He swears he hears Brendon mutter _that's a shame_ and it startles him. However, there's nothing on Brendon's face that indicates he said anything when he turns back to Jon. He just grins and tells Jon, "That's good. I kick."

Remembering the way Brendon's arm had flailed out earlier, Jon thinks there's probably a lot of truth to that statement.

Brendon sends him off to his room with a quick hug, one that Jon doesn't have time to return, and a quiet, "I head out to the Farmer's Market around eight, eight-thirty if you decide to come."

He's gone before Jon has time to blink.

~

About half a mile down the road the next morning as they head into town for the market, Brendon says abruptly, "I'm gay."

Jon doesn't say anything, just keeps walking. A minute later, Brendon huffs out, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Looking over, Jon finds Brendon staring at him. He shrugs. "Okay." Brendon gives him a look and Jon shrugs again. "What? Is it a problem that I _don't_ have a problem with your liking guys?"

It's not until Brendon's shoulders fall that Jon realizes how tight he must have been holding them. Brendon sighs and Jon asks, "Were you really worried about that?" It's Brendon's turn to lift a shoulder. "I just–There are a couple people in town who aren't really cool about it, you know? I wanted you to be prepared, just in case."

"Seriously?" It's not Jon isn't aware that prejudice is out there, but it seems like Brendon's been here for a while. That people would know him. Jon's been around him for a day and a half and he can't imagine people not liking him, regardless of where he sticks his dick.

Brendon nods, looking down. He kicks at a pebble and watches as it hops and skids ahead of them. "Yeah."

"Hmm," Jon hums. "That sucks." Brendon nods in agreement, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. His head whips around when Jon adds, "Fuck 'em."

With raised eyebrows, Brendon studies him. There's a smile trying to escape, his eyes warming. Jon grins at him and Brendon throws his head back, laughing. It echoes around them. Brendon bumps his shoulder against Jon's.

"Fuck 'em."

~

The Farmer's Market is like nothing Jon's ever seen. The entire block has been cordoned off and Jon almost loses Brendon in the first five minutes. After the second time Brendon nearly slips away, Jon grabs a hold of his wrist, sliding his fingers down until they're fingers are clasped together.

Startled, Brendon stares at their joined hands for a moment before he looks up. "We're totally going to be the talk of the town, Jon Walker."

Rolling his eyes, Jon tells him, "I'm not losing you in this place, Bden–" Brendon's eyes crinkle at the corners. "And nobody can see jack. I didn't think there were that many people in this town." He glances around. Someone stumbles against him, apologizing and disappearing back into the crowd before Jon can turn his head to look.

"It doesn't," Brendon answers, pulling him along. "The Farmer's Market only happens like this once a month." He points to a booth, a jewelry vendor. "It's more like a mini-festival? We have the regular produce vendors, but then all the New Agers–" There's a gesture towards another booth, a brightly painted crystal ball stating _Visions of the Future_ on the front. "And people like the Mackenzie's here–" He waves at an older couple who smile broadly at him, "Get to come down from the city and let us get a shot at their awesome stuff."

"Hey, Ben. Maggie." The woman reaches out to give Brendon a hug which he returns one-armed, not letting go of Jon's hand.

"Brendon! Good to see you." Ben's voice is rough, but warm as he shakes Brendon's hand. They're familiar with Brendon, fondness evident on their faces. Jon feels uncomfortable, intrusive. He must make a move to pull away because Brendon's hand tightens around his and he looks over his shoulder at Jon.

"Hey, hey," he says quietly enough that Jon almost doesn't hear it. Louder, Brendon adds, "Come check Maggie's stuff out. It's _amazing_."

Brendon tugs him a little closer. Reluctantly, he shuffles up next to Brendon. Nodding to the couple, he looks down. Brendon's tracing the clean lines of a small glass sculpture. It's brilliant blue, twisted but elegant. Inside there's a streak of deep red. Brendon shifts it a little and the strip of red disappears. Jon frowns, making a startled noise. Brendon laughs, pushing it back. The red appears again.

Brendon looks over at Jon. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Nodding, Jon makes note of the way that Brendon can't seem to stop touching the piece.

"That's Brendon's favorite piece," Maggie offers, smiling softly toward Brendon. "He always asks to see it."

"Why don't you buy it?" Jon asks, curious. Brendon shrugs.

"You've seen me; I don't think it'd last two seconds." He sighs wistfully, pushing the case back toward Maggie. "Thanks, Maggie." To Jon, "We should hit the Mason's before it gets any later. They're pumpkin bread never lasts very long and Greta will kill me slowly if I don't get any this time."

Jon nods at the Mackenzie's, watching as Brendon gives the blue glass sculpture a final longing glance before pulling Jon back into the flow of people.

 

 

The entire morning is a blur of crowds, smells, sounds and endless touching and tasting. By the time noon rolls around, they've been up one side and made their way back down the other side. Jon's taste-tested a full meal's worth of tidbits so he just manages to give Brendon an amazed look when he says, "God, I'm starving!"

Brendon frowns at him. "What?"

"I'm pretty sure we just ate about three meals." Jon points back to the market. There are half a dozen bags that swing into each other when he raises his arm. Brendon has just as many.

Brendon's face falls and Jon rolls his eyes. God, he's such a _sucker_. "Fine," he says. "I will watch you eat. I'm sure I'll explode if I eat anything else."

"But it's just a paper-thin wafer," Brendon responds. His accent is actually pretty spot-on and it makes Jon laugh. Brendon grins, tugging on his elbow. "Seriously though, Carden's Place is a block from here. He's got the _best_ veggie lasagna you've ever tasted. Don't tell Greta I told you that; she's been trying to get Mike to tell her the recipe for the last two years." Brendon continues to talk as they make their way to the restaurant.

 

 

Jon admits he's a bit reluctant about trying veggie lasagna and also god, he's still full from the market, but Brendon's right, it _is_ ridiculously good. He might actually explode.

"Oh my god. Seriously, Brendon." Jon slumps back in his chair. "I am not eating anything ever again." Brendon snorts, mimicking Jon's posture. He pats his belly and looks over at Jon.

"Not like you couldn't use it. I don't think you've eaten a full meal the entire week." Jon doesn't have anything to say to that. His appetite's been fairly nonexistent for a while now, excepting today. "Greta's starting to worry that you don't like her cooking," he adds. Jon head shoots up at that.

"No, it's not–Greta's a fantastic cook. That's–" He shakes his head. "Her cooking is fine, I've not–I just don't have much of an appetite," he finishes.

Nodding, Brendon tells him, "That's what I said to Greta. She's just a worrier, you know?" He doesn't give Jon time to respond, pushing back from the table and adding, "Well, we should probably head back now.

They hassle over payment until Brendon, exasperated, finally grabs the twenty dollar bill Jon's offering and shoves it into the front pocket of Jon's button-up. "Consider lunch your payment for being a workhorse." He motions towards the bags at their feet. "Trust me, hauling all this shit back to the inn is going to be a pain in the ass."

 

 

By the time they hit the road back up to the inn, Jon's arms are aching. He asks, "Why didn't we bring a car?"

Brendon frowns so loudly Jon swears he can actually hear it. "Bob won't let me drive."

Jon looks expectantly at Brendon, eyebrows high. Rolling his eyes, Brendon explains. "I'd never driven a stick, okay? I–" He lifts a shoulder, "I conveniently forgot to tell him that little fact." Jon waits, but Brendon doesn't continue.

" _And?_ "

A faint blush is making its way across Brendon's cheeks and Jon can't help grinning. Noticing, Brendon glares at him. Finally, he mumbles an answer.

"What?"

Brendon glares again, lifting a hand to scratch at his nose. The bags shift and crinkle against each other. "Ikindofranitintothecreek."

"What was that? I didn't quite get it." Brendon's eyes narrow, but he repeats himself. Each word is succinct.

"I. Ran. The. Truck. Into. The. Creek."

Jon bites his lip, trying really hard not to laugh. A second later, Brendon sighs. "You can laugh, go on." Jon chuckles. "I totally deserve that, I know." He adds wistfully, "I know I could do it now, but Bob won't let me anywhere near the truck."

Reaching out, Jon tries to pat him on the shoulder, but the bags he's carrying slip and instead he ends up smacking Brendon in the shoulder.

"Oh sure, beat me. Thanks, Jon Walker." Jon can't help grinning at him. He hasn't felt this normal in a long time. It's nice. He's about to retort when there's the sound of a vehicle ahead. A second later the inn truck appears and Brendon's face lights up.

Brendon's practically vibrating in place by the time Bob rolls the window down. "Figured you guys might need a ride."

"Thanks, Bob! You're the man!" Brendon scrambles into the back of the truck, adding, "Jon was getting really tired."

Jon opens his mouth to protest when he sees Bob grinning at him. Rolling his eyes, Jon gives Bob a quiet, "Thanks," and climbs in the truck bed with Brendon. He kicks Brendon's ankle lightly before sitting down. "You're the one who was getting tired, ass."

"Well, yeah," Brendon agrees. "But I have a manly reputation to uphold. Can't go letting the employers think I'm too puny, you know?"

Jon highly doubts that either of the Bryars would ever hold that against Brendon, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, as Bob turns the truck around and they head back towards the inn, he asks, "How long have you been working for the inn?"

Something shifts on Brendon's face, but he just says, "Almost two years." Although he'd known it had to have been a while, it still surprises Jon.

"But you're barely what? Nineteen?"

Indignant, Brendon tells him, "I'm nearly 21." Another surprise, Brendon's only a couple years younger than himself. He feels ancient next to Brendon though.

It makes him curious though. "How'd you end up here? It's an odd place for someone you're age."

Brendon tilts his head. "How do you know I'm not a local?" Jon just looks at him. "Fine," he huffs. There's a moment of silence before he answers. "Truthfully? I kind of literally threw a dart at a map, packed a bag and took a bus. Voila."

Jon really wants to know exactly what made Brendon take off and asks before he can stop himself. Brendon studies him for a moment and then asks his own question. "Why are _you_ here, Jon Walker?" His voice is soft, but the words are sharp enough to make Jon swallow. He looks away and doesn't answer.

He's fairly sure they're both relieved when the inn comes into sight. When Bob slows, Brendon is jumping out of the truck bed before the vehicle is completely stopped. He reaches back in, grabbing all the bags. Jon starts to protest; he knows he should apologize, but Brendon just smiles at him. It's wide and fake and Jon doesn't like it.

"I've got it from here, Good Sir. Thanks for coming with." Brendon's off like a shot and Jon runs a hand over his face. Bob's voice startles him.

"Don't worry about it." There's a hand on his shoulder and Jon looks up. Bob's watching Brendon disappear into the inn. "He gets over stuff pretty quick."

Jon nods, not even pretending that he doesn't know what Bob's talking about. Bob's a no-nonsense guy, Jon determined that fairly quickly, and it's stupid to even try.

"Right." Nodding to himself, Jon mumbles, "Thanks."

"No problem." There's another clap on his shoulder before Bob moves away. Heading up the porch stairs, he tosses over his shoulder, "Dinner's at 6:30."

Jon groans at the mention of more food. It's probably a good thing he's only here for a few more days.

~

Brendon avoids him the next day. So after lunch, which he eats with Greta at a corner table in the kitchen making light, comfortable conversation, Jon gives up and heads back into Lorelei Springs.

The only evidence that the market existed is the lettuce leaf that blows across the street to lodge against the brick of the post office. Jon wanders around, no particular route in mind. Lorelei Springs is big enough to have a hospital, but small enough that everyone smiles at him as he passes by.

It's so very different than Chicago, and Jon finds himself smiling back, nodding silent hellos.

There's a small coffee shop on one corner and Jon slides through the door. A couple minutes later he's back outside, hands wrapped around a beautifully smelling cup of some specialty Coffee-of-the Day blend. There’s a hint of hazelnut and a touch of cinnamon that’s confirmed with the first sip. Those years working through college at the local Starbucks weren't for nothing.

An older lady steps in front of him and Jon realizes he's still standing in front of the door. With a quick, "sorry," he opens the door for her. She pats him on the arm in thanks and he smiles back. Her cheeks are a little pink as she moves into the building.

With nothing else to do, Jon takes another sip and begins walking down the block. The town is quiet, but nice, and he’s really starting to like it. He passes by half a dozen shops before something in the corner of a window give him pause. Bending down, he takes a closer look. Fingers twitch against the outside of his cup.

A minute later, he heads inside.

 

 

 

Jon's in the living room, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, when a pair of well-worn red Chucks move into his peripheral vision. He doesn't stop what he's doing, working the cloth gently against the outside of the camera in his hand. Jon waits him out, Brendon shifting from one foot to the other. It’s not much longer before Brendon says quietly, "Hey."

Looking up, Jon smiles. "Hey, Bden."

The set of Brendon's shoulders relaxes and he gives Jon a wide grin. He moves closer, sitting down across the table from Jon. "What is that?"

Working with cameras like this has always been calming for Jon. He can focus on each part, the way they fit together. How they work to capture what he sees. This one is older, but seems to still be in pretty good shape. He tilts it toward Brendon.

"Well, young Brendon–" That gets him an eye-roll. "This is a 1952 Hasselblad Medium Format SLR.”

Brendon looks distinctly unimpressed. It’s not unusual, the majority of people are the enthusiast Jon is, and names don’t mean much then. Jon decides not to geek out on him and continues to clean the camera.

"Does it still work?" Brendon leans forward, running a hand over the silver edge of one corner. Immediately pulling his hand back, he looks up at Jon. "Sorry."

"Cameras are for holding, for using, so don’t worry about it. And to answer your question, I don't know yet. I wanted to clean her up a bit before trying her out." He looks up to see Brendon smiling at him. "What?"

"You are totally a camera nerd, Jon Walker. Admit it." He can feel his face heating up a little. Cameras always make him excited.

He misses Tom suddenly, the way they could both just talk and talk and talk about cameras and angles and lighting. It must show on his face because Brendon asks softly, "Jon?"

Snapping out of it, Jon grins. "Yes. Yes, I _am_ a camera nerd. I tried quitting, but apparently–" He glances around at the camera and the cleaning kit, strewn across the coffee table. "It didn't take."

There's a soft look on Brendon's face as he stares at Jon. "Well, the things we love always seem to stay with us, right?"

The words are a fist to his chest; Jon can’t breathe. Alarm crosses Brendon's face and he scrambles around the table, hands on Jon's shoulders. "Jon? Jon, what's wrong?"

Jon sucks in a huge gasp of air, choking on it a second later. He can't seem to catch his breath. Brendon's hands tighten, digging in to Jon's skin.

"I'm going to get Greta–" Brendon's halfway to standing when Jon grabs his wrist.

"No! No, I'm–I'm fine," he finally manages. Brendon looks at him, skeptical, and Jon tugs him back down. He moves from his knees to sit beside Jon, back against the couch, while Jon struggles to get his breathing under control.

"You want to talk about it?" Brendon's voice breaks the silence, quiet but sincere. Jon shakes his head. "Okay." Brendon drags the word out. "Okay then, we'll just. Sit here."

So they do, Brendon a line of warmth along Jon's side. The sunlight lengthens across the room and they stay quiet, watching. Jon stares at the camera sitting on the table in front of them and does his best not to think at all.

~

Turns out the camera _does_ work and Jon uses it as an excuse the next day to take his turn avoiding Brendon. It's stupid, the way the smallest things, the most unassuming words make him react.

The previous evening, Brendon hadn’t said a word. Taking a cue from Jon, he’d sat down at dinner and acted as if nothing happened. It made Jon was ridiculously grateful even if he was still embarrassed by the episode.

Dinner was meatloaf and Jon's comment on the fact that it was better than his mom's led to a discussion on Chicago. Surprisingly, Jon didn't have any trouble talking about that. Greta was familiar, telling Jon she'd actually grown up there. It was, well, _nice_. Jon pretended not to see all the concerned looks Brendon kept giving him the entire time, even as he asked question after question. Still, once dinner was done, Jon had run for it, disappearing before Brendon could stop him.

So yes, the camera works and Jon is unashamedly using it as an excuse to head back out towards the creek in the forest. It doesn’t take long, however, to get lost in taking pictures. Excitement runs under his skin, contemplating how the photos will look once developed. Development of the film gives him pause and he drops the camera away from his face. He doesn't recall seeing a photo shop while walking around yesterday. There's always the drug store stations, but the very thought of using one of those for this camera seems wrong. A special hand is needed.

He'll need to ask Brendon if–

Breaking off the thought, he brings the camera back up, snapping a shot without really looking. A movement to his left catches the corner of his eye and he turns to look. He stills immediately.

At first, he thinks it's a dog. It's bigger than most dogs he's seen though, longer-legged and thin. Its coat is mottled gray and brown, the eyes dark as they stare at Jon.

He swallows, not quite sure what to do. A finger hits the shutter without thinking, the sound loud in the air. The wolf tilts his head, curious. Something else catches his attention though, and the wolf looks away, back toward the inn. A second later Jon hears the sound of someone coming, the snap of dried leaves echoing through the air. He knows who it is a second before Brendon rounds a tree.

" _Don't–_ "

Brendon stops immediately. "Jon?"

The wolf's head lift, ears popping straight up at the sound of Brendon's voice.

"What is it, Jon?" Brendon isn’t quite into the clearing where Jon and the wolf are standing.

Very quietly, Jon says, "There's a–A wolf, I think?"

Brendon's face clears and he moves abruptly around the tree. Jon makes a startled, panicked sound, but it's overridden by Brendon's enthusiastic, "Bo Diddly! You're back!"

He goes to his knees and Jon can't help another choked off warning as the wolf rushes up. Brendon wraps his arms around the wolf’s neck and Jon’s words fall away in astonishment. Enthusiastic face licking has Brendon laughing loudly even as Jon fights to loosen the grip he’s got on his camera.

"What the hell?" Brendon looks over, startled at the anger in Jon's voice. "What the fuck, Brendon?"

"It's Bo," he responds, bewildered.

"It's a fucking _wolf_ , Brendon." The animal in question stiffens at Jon's tone.

Brendon runs a hand over his back, murmuring comforting noises. Quietly, he tells Jon, "He's actually only half wolf, really. Bob raised him from a pup." He scratches behind Bo's ears and gets a lick on the chin in return. "But he did his best to kind of let Bo still get a feel for the forest, for being free. He takes off occasionally and it kind of sucks, not knowing if he's gonna come back."

The tone of Brendon's voice makes Jon kind of feel like a dick. And it's not like he can't really relate. He doesn't say anything though, but brings the camera back up to snap a quick shot. It's an interesting scene, affection clear on both sides of the equation. He doesn't move though, still wary.

"Does he bite?"

Brendon gives him a look. "He's an animal, Jon. Of course, he bites."

Rolling his eyes, Jon tries again. "Okay, fine. Is he going to bite me?"

There's a shrug and another ear scratch for Bo.

"Fuck it," Jon sighs and sits down, making his moves slow and as non-threatening as possible. Bo looks at him, but it's disinterested. He's much more into the loving Brendon is lavishing upon him.

Jon sighs again. "Brendon."

Nothing.

" _Brendon._."

That gets him a glance at least. Jon runs a hand over his face. "You realize this is kind of passive-aggressive, right?"

Glaring, Brendon say, "You were avoiding me."

Jon looks down at his hands at that. It's true. Before he can say anything though, Brendon keeps going. "I mean, I know we've only known each other a couple days, but I like you. I like hanging out with you." Biting his lip, Brendon adds, "And you–You let me. There aren’t a lot of people around here who do, okay? Greta and Bob, yeah. But it's a retirement town and it's just–It's been a while since I had someone to talk to." He won't look at Jon.

It makes Jon feel like an ass.

"I like hanging out with you, too, you know." That earns him a look. Jon shakes his head, floundering a little. "There–There are some things I'm not ready to talk about. But–" Looking back, he finds Brendon staring at him, eyes kind of wide and hopeful.

Jesus, everything is written across this kid's face.

Finally, he just finishes with, "I'm sorry, Bden. I _was_ avoiding you and I'm–I'm sorry."

Brendon watches him until Jon's ready to get up and leave and then blurts out, "I'm sorry, too." Jon frowns, confused, and Brendon elaborates. "I did the same thing to you after the Farmer's Market." He looks down at Bo, running a hand down the wolf's neck. With a soft laugh, he says, "Guess we're two of a kind, huh? Secret pasts and short fuses."

They sit there for a while after that, not really speaking. Brendon starts fidgeting and Jon grins to himself. Looking up, Brendon notices and a wide smile spreads across his face. Without thinking, Jon lifts his camera and snaps a photo. Brendon's eyebrows raise and he says enthusiastically, "It works? Oh man, that's awesome!"

Jon laughs as Brendon starts asking a million questions, crawling over to where Jon's sitting. Bo follows him, tail swishing back and forth. The wolf settles on his stomach as they talk, leaning into Jon's hand when he reaches out to scratch behind an ear.

Brendon grins at him and Jon can't help smiling back.  



	2. Chapter 2

  
~

Jon takes a quick side-step to avoid running into the couple coming out of the entry. When he looks over, Greta is trying not to smile. He sends her an embarrassed nod, lifting the box camera in his hands. As he gets closer, she asks, "Find another one?"

It's been a thing for the last few days, one that everyone in the inn is familiar with by now. After finding that first one in the pawn shop, Jon went a little nuts. He'd picked up two more today.

With a chagrined smile, he tells Greta, "I think I'm trying to keep the local pawn shops in business. "

Greta's laugh is warm and she reaches out to pat his arm. Jon doesn't pull away and pretends to not notice the way it makes Greta's smile widen, the corner of her eyes happier. He'll be leaving in a few days and it makes his stomach turn a little.

"Oh!" Greta lets go of his arm, reaching underneath the counter. She hands over a slip of paper. "Someone called for you."

Jon swallows hard at the name on the paper. He jerks at Greta's concerned, "Everything okay, Jon?"

He looks down at his mom's name and finally nods. "Yeah. Yeah, it's–It's my mother."

"I hope everything's okay." Jon wants to laugh. It wouldn't be a pretty sound, so he doesn't. Instead he nods again, giving Greta a small smile. "It's probably nothing. She, uh. She tends to worry. You know–Moms."

That makes Greta laugh softly. She rolls her eyes, leaning forward a little. "Tell me about it." Moving out from behind the counter, she moves toward the back hallway. "I'm going to go check on dinner. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Jon nods distractedly, back to staring down at the slip of paper in his hand. With a sigh, he finally heads toward his room.

 

 

"Hey, Mo–"

"Jonathan Jacob Walker, where the hell have you been?" He flinches. There's no way to miss the fear underlying her sharp rebuke.

"Mom, I–"

She breaks in again. "You just. You _disappeared_. We called the house a million times but you didn't answer. And then your cell phone went straight to voicemail. David went to your place, but it was empty–"

"I'm sorry, Mom." He _is_. He hadn't really thought about anything but getting out, getting _away_. "I just, I had to–I couldn't be there another day."

There's a muffled sigh on the other end and Jon can see it in his head, the way she puts a hand over her mouth when she's really upset. The way she squeezes her eyes shut, like that will keep her from crying. He hates that he's the cause for it and whispers again, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Jonathan."

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, just breathing. Finally, his mom asks quietly, "How are you doing?"

He thinks about it. Thinks about the inn, about Lorelei Springs. Brendon and Greta and Bob. About the veggie lasagna at Carden's and the three new cameras sitting on the dresser across the room.

"Better," he replies, and finds that it's true.

 

 

Dinner that night is subdued. With a start, Jon realizes that the rest of the table is taking their cue from him. He looks up at Brendon and asks, "Bo still hanging around?" That leads into a discussion on the half-wolf, Bob and Greta not realizing that he'd come back.

It's not until Jon is digging into a slice of warm apple pie, the vanilla ice cream just starting to melt, when Greta clears her throat. He looks up and she smiles at him.

"So." She glances at Bob and Brendon, then back at Jon. "We were thinking that we'd have a barbecue for your last night on Saturday. Invite a few people from town. Does that sound okay to you?"

Jon can feel his mouth working. Finally, he manages, "I'm not. I mean, you don't–"

"It's not a big deal," Bob adds gruffly, looking intently down at his plate. "It's perfect weather for a cookout. And as long as Brendon stays away from the grill–" There's an indignant squawk from Brendon's side of the table. "Everything should be good."

"Also," Greta stands up, collecting plates. "There's a new sauce recipe I want to try. See if I can take Carden down a peg or two." There's a look in her eye that kind of scares Jon, but he doesn't say anything. She stops in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at Jon. "We've really enjoyed having you here, Jon."

He glances around the table, coming back around to Greta. He gives her a small smile and says, "A barbecue sounds like fun." Greta smiles broadly at him and turns away, heading into the kitchen.

A second later, Brendon says to Bob, "That was one time, Robert Bryar!"

"Yeah," Bob mutters. "Just like the truck was one time. And the table saw was one time–" Jon feels vaguely horrified at the thought of Brendon and wood-cutting machinery. Brendon turns a little green at that one, too, but gamely continues with his pleas. At one point, he's taking dishes back to the kitchen, trying to get Greta's help. Jon can't help grinning at the peal of laughter that follows.

Brendon comes back into the dining room, frowning. "Nobody takes me seriously."

Standing up, Jon pulls Brendon into a one-armed hug. "That's okay, Bden. You can help me take pictures." Brendon's face lights up.

"You're gonna show me how to use one of your cameras?" Bob looks a little dubious. Jon adds, "Well, I figure anyone that can take the DVD player apart–" This time there's a squawk from Bob's side of the table. Brendon's eyes widen and he shakes his head slightly. Jon quickly continues, "And put it back together should be able to handle a camera."

They stand there grinning stupidly at each other until Greta walks back in, smacking Brendon on the back of the head and threatening to take the price of a new DVD player out of his paycheck if doesn't work.

Jon's not really worried. They'd spent most of the morning watching Aladdin afterward anyway.

~

It’s late when Jon stumbles into his room.

He's had a few beers, enough to be pleasantly buzzed, and his stomach is still full even though it's been a couple of hours since he ate. Greta's sauce had been epic. Even Carden had grudgingly told her so while taking another set of ribs.

He’d been expecting it to be the four of them, maybe the other couple staying at the inn, but half the town had turned out for the event. People he'd never met or heard of were milling about the clearing behind the inn. It was a little overwhelming at first, but Brendon seemed to know _everybody_ and he'd stuck with Jon for most of the afternoon. It was only after Jon handed over a camera, giving him a few tips, that Brendon had left his side.

Jon sets his own camera down on the dresser and sits on the edge of the bed. He takes a deep breath and then another. There's a hum under his skin but it's not alarming, mostly the remainder of the evening settling itself out. The slamming of car doors echo outside the window. He feels–

He feels _good_.

And for the first time in a long time, it seems. Coming here, while seeming crazy at first, really has been cathartic.

And tomorrow he leaves.

Tomorrow, he’s supposed to pack up and go back to Chicago. Back to whatever life he'd had there.

Only everything back in Chicago reminds him of Cassie. Every corner he'll turn, every old haunt. It will constantly make him think of all they'd had together and everything they wouldn't, not now.

Sighing, Jon slides off the bed and onto the floor. He tilts his head back, resting it on the mattress and staring at the ceiling. The sun has set and the room is blanketed with shadows. He's not sure how long he sits there, this blankness running through his head, when there's a soft knock at the door.

When he doesn't answer, it opens and Brendon's voice is quiet when he says, "Jon?"

Without moving, Jon just responds, "Yo."

"Everything okay?" Brendon slides around the end of the bed, looking down at Jon. At least he assumes Brendon’s looking at him. It's too dark now to really tell.

Jon just hums, then says abruptly, "I should pack."

"I'm pretty sure you can do it in the morning. It's not like you brought a lot with you." Jon snorts; it's true.

Brendon sits down beside him, close enough that their sleeves brush. Jon doesn't say anything and Brendon's quiet for a few minutes before he takes a deep breath. He lets it out with a heavy sigh and Jon can't help asking, "Are _you_ okay?"

"Not really," he answers. A head flops on Jon's shoulder and Brendon sighs again. He's fiddling with something, but Jon can't see what it is. Brendon mumbles against his shoulder and it's only after Jon shrugs a couple of times and prods, "What?" that Brendon pulls back enough to say clearly, "I don't want you to go."

Jon's pretty sure he doesn’t want to leave either. But there’s not a lot to do about it, his entire life is in Chicago.

"You want to know why I'm here?" Jon asks abruptly. Next to him, Brendon tenses, but relaxes again almost immediately.

"Only if you want to talk about it."

"I _don't_ want to talk about it." Jon's sharp laugh is loud in the room. Brendon flinches but doesn't move away. "I haven't talked about it. At all." Jon sighs, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes.

"It might help," Brendon offers in a quiet voice and Jon nods a second later, even though he knows Brendon can't see.

"That's what my mom keeps telling me."

Brendon knocks his head against Jon's shoulder softly. "Well, Mom's are supposed to know best." There's something off in Brendon's voice, but Jon can't really focus on it. All of a sudden he _does_ want to tell somebody. Wants to tell _Brendon_ , get it off his chest where it's been static, strangling him for the last few months.

"I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon," he blurts out in the silence. Brendon jerks in surprise and the words start tumbling out. "Cassie just–She found this place online and completely fell in love with it. She thought it was quaint. Old-fashioned." Jon laughs softly. "Something so far away from Chicago."

It's quiet for a minute, Jon just trying to breathe again. Brendon's voice is tentative when he breaks the silence. "What happened?"

"It was just–It was a fucking accident. A stupid, _fucking_ accident." Jon sucks in a huge gulp of air. "And now she's just–Gone."

He closes his eyes in the dark. Brendon rests his head on Jon’s shoulder again. His soft, “Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry,” loosening the knot in his chest.

"I couldn't even get out of bed for a week." Jon scoffs. "How pathetic is that?"

There's another knock against his shoulder then Brendon lifts his head. Jon can feel him staring. "Jesus, Jon, you'd just lost the love of your life. It's understandable, not pathetic."

"She was, you know." There's a flash of memory in Jon's mind, Cassie walking down the hall on the first day of freshman year. "I've known her half my life. She was It."

Brendon sighs again, shifting in the dark. He moves to stand and for a split second Jon nearly grabs him, not wanting him to leave. He resists the urge."I think you should tell me about her. But not on the floor–" Brendon tugs on his arm. "My ass is starting to hurt."

That startles a laugh out of Jon and he doesn't resist when Brendon pulls him up.

Jon stumbles in the dark, but Brendon doesn't let go. The bed has plenty of room for the two of them, but Brendon settles close, a line of warmth that Jon can feel even though they're not really touching.

"So, Jon Walker," Brendon says after they've settled. "Cassie."

He's not sure where to start. Almost as if Brendon knows what Jon was thinking about earlier, he says, "Tell me how you met."

With a deep breath, Jon starts talking.

 

 

It's too warm when Jon wakes, and it's only when he goes to move that he realizes why.

Brendon, unsurprisingly, is a stealth cuddler. He's sprawled half on top of Jon and drooling on his shoulder Reaching up to rub at his face–his eyes feel gummier than usual–Jon remembers last night.

He'd talked himself raw, voice cracking by the time he was finished, tears sliding into the hair at his temples. Brendon had grasped at his hand, wrapping his fingers tight around Jon's. Last night, he’d been grateful for the comfort. But in the morning sunlight that’s spreading throughout the room, Jon can feel his face heat up. Nothing like emotional breakdowns in front of your new friends.

 _Which you're going to leave today_ whispers through his head.

That, more than anything, makes his stomach twist. He's become comfortable here. Safe. And now he's supposed to go home, go back to Chicago and memories and pain. Jon finds that he doesn't want to go.

"So don't go."

Brendon's voice startles him. It's sleep-gruff and close.

"Don't go where?"

Jon can hear the eye roll in Brendon's voice when he answer, "Don't go home."

He pushes up into a sitting position, cross-legged next to Jon. There's an _oops_ face when he sees the wet spot on Jon's shirt, but his gaze is clear when he looks at Jon. "You were thinking really loud. Also, you don't really hide your emotions as well as you think you do."

Brendon shrugs, adding, "It's not like I'm going to judge you, you know. You're not the only one running away from home." He looks away at that, gaze toward the window on the other side of the room. Quietly, he says, "At least you have a real reason; you were hurting."

There's another shrug and he drops his chin down to his chest. "I'm just a coward."

"I find that hard to believe," Jon says. He sits up too, shoving the pillow behind him and sliding until his back is against the headboard. He stares at Brendon's bent head, watching him chew on his bottom lip. He raises his head at Jon's, "You're pretty fearless from what I've seen." Jon offers a small smile, but Brendon doesn't smile back. He just stares at Jon for a long minute.

"My parents quit helping pay for college when they found out I was gay."

"They're Mormon–" Jon notes the definitive _they_. "–And it was a big enough struggle to get out of Mission and go to the college that _I_ wanted. So when I told them that the dream of a perfect 2.5 marriage was pretty much not going to happen, they decided that they couldn't–" Brendon grimaces, "in 'good faith', continue to support me."

"It sucked, yeah. But not surprising. Not really." Brendon looks down at his lap again. "I don't even really care about that part." It's almost as if Brendon's waiting for Jon to call him on such a blatant lie, but when Jon stays silent, he continues.

"There was this guy. I met him my senior year of school and he was–" Brendon raises his head again, eyes bright. "He was completely awesome." There's a brief smile. "The coolest. Spencer's the guy that could give two shits about what you think of him, you know? He had these wicked blue eyes and, god, the _best_ smile."

Brendon tilts his head, a tiny smile on his face, lost in a memory. It's a feeling Jon's familiar with and he waits patiently. A second later, Brendon jerks, looking back at Jon. The soft smile is still there.

Shaking his head, Brendon says, "And for some unknown reason, he just–Liked me. Wanted to be my friend."

"I was kind of a loser in high school. Too loud, too hyper, too–everything, basically. So someone as cool as Spence wanting to be my friend? Hell yeah, I was in." There’s a sad tilt to Brendon’s smile. "You were lucky, Jon. At least your best friend loved you back."

With a sigh, Brendon says, "I did everything I could to get rid of that stupid, stupid crush I had on him. Shoved it way down under everything else until I had convinced myself that we _were_ just friends. I was happy that I could be around him, right?" He laughs. "And wow, that sounds like every cheesy romance novel my sisters ever read." It’s the first time Jon’s ever heard Brendon mention siblings.

"Anyway–" Pulling a face, Brendon continues. "Like the epically trashy romance novel that is my life, I did something stupid." He stops, back to chewing on his lip and Jon has to prompt him.

"What happened?" He asks softly.

Brendon swallows hard. "I kissed him."

"I had just had that horrible conversation with my parents and I was freaking out. So I did what I always did when I had a problem, I went talk to Spencer." Shaking his head, Brendon says, "I'm pretty sure I was hysterical, freaking out, and Spencer was trying to calm me down and I just looked at him."

He meets Jon's eyes. "I looked at him and thought, _I'm in love with you, I always have been._ So I kissed him. And then I ran like hell, even more terrified than I was to begin with."

"I got back to my dorm room, threw everything that would fit into a couple bags and started driving east. The first place I stopped for gas, I bought a map, threw the proverbial dart." Lifting his hands, he finishes, "And ended up here."

“I drove into town, saw an ad asking for a general handyman and found my way up here to the inn. For some reason, Greta gave me the job." Brendon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "I have a knack for taking things apart and putting them back together. Sold the car to pay for rent and food while I started here." He shrugs again. "I ran, afraid of taking a chance, but I like it here, you know? I got lucky."

He gives Jon a quick look before dropping his gaze to his lap. "And I think it's been good for you, too. You smile more now." Brendon looks up at him, not lifting his head.

"So don't go."

"Brendon–" There's a spark in his chest, an urge to say _yes_ to Brendon's idea, but his whole life is in Chicago. "I don't think–"

"It doesn't have to be forever," Brendon jumps in quickly, leaning forward. "Just a few months maybe. A little more time to get your head screwed on straight. To get your heart healed a little more."

There's desperation lying low in Brendon's voice. Jon can tell he's doing his best to hide it, that he really does have Jon's interests at heart. Jon sighs. "I don't know, Brendon. This trip was already paid for. I don't really have the money to stay."

Brendon's face lights up and he leans even further toward Jon. "Stay with me then. I've got an extra room." He frowns. "I mean, I'd have to clear some stuff, but there's totally room for another bed. I'm sure we can find one pretty cheap–"

"Brendon."

Brendon bites his lip, stopping. Jon just looks at him. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

A blush makes its way over Brendon's cheeks. "For a while," he finally admits.

Jon can't help smiling a little. "And how am I supposed to support myself while we live in sin?" Brendon glances up, eyes widening. He grins, but struggles to get serious a second later.

"Well. I'm pretty sure that Greta knows 99% of the population in this town, I'm sure she'd have some ideas." For some reason, Jon thinks that Greta's already got a list underneath her counter in the lobby.

It's in that instant that Jon realizes that he's really contemplating it And even more to the point, he _wants_ to stay. Something must show in his face because a smile starts spreading across Brendon's face. Jon shakes his head, disbelieving.

His mom isn't going to like this at all.

 

 

Greta is as delighted by Jon's decision as Brendon and sure enough, two seconds after mentioning work, she pulls out a card from underneath her counter. Sliding it across the counter, she tells Jon, "This is my friend’s bar. Bob’s always looking for a good bar man, if you don't mind slinging beer."

"Bob?"

Greta sighs, giving Jon a look. "Don't even start, okay? Yes, my best friend's name is Bob. My husband's name is also Bob. One does not have anything to do with the other, trust me." Brendon and Jon glance at each other and Greta just sighs again. "Whatever. Do you want the info or not?"  
She starts to pull it away and Jon reaches out, grabbing it. "No, no," he apologizes. "I'm grateful."

Jon sobers, adding, "You've been amazing and I appreciate everything you've done."

Blushing, Greta rolls her eyes. "Just trying to run a classy joint, Walker. Now go talk to Bob before I charge you another night's stay." She busies herself, shuffling around some papers and straightening the pen holder. Jon takes his cue, Brendon tugging on his arm, and heads outside.

"Come on, come on." Brendon's already halfway down the steps. " _Stamps_ isn't that far from here."

The name sounds familiar and Jon vaguely remembers passing a sign with that name from his trips into town. "That's the name of the bar? _Stamps?_ " Nodding his head, Brendon adds, "You'll see. He's got tons of shit from around the world. The place is a little crazy." He smiles over his shoulder at Jon. "You should fit right in!"

"Thanks," Jon says drily, and follows.

 

 

They get two steps inside the door when a voice bellows out, "Not gonna happen, Urie!"

Brendon sighs loudly and puts a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You're on your own now. I'll be outside." Jon watches him turn, shoulders slumped, and walk back out of the bar. When he turns back around, a man is coming out from the back room. He swings a towel over his shoulder and heads for Jon.

"Bob Morris," he offers, reaching out a hand. Jon shakes it, introducing himself.

"Greta said you might be hiring?" Jon asks tentatively.

Nodding, Bobs says, "I'm always looking for a hard worker, yeah. You sticking around for a while?"

Somehow, Jon's sure that Bob's already aware of his situation. Greta was probably on the phone before Jon and Brendon were out of the driveway. He doesn't say anything other than, "Yeah. I'm moving into Brendon's place for a bit."

Bob motions for him to sit down at a nearby table. When Jon's comfortable, Bob tells him. "It's not much, I have to say. But tips are yours and yours alone. Fridays and Saturdays can be a little like hell, especially during tourist season." Bob grins at Jon. "Tuesday nights are for karaoke, and during football season Mondays and Sundays can get a little loud. The rest of the time it's fairly steady."

Jon frowns at Bob. "That's it? I'm hired, just like that?"

Laughing, Bob stands up. With a hand on Jon's shoulder, he says, "It's slinging beer, Walker, not rocket science. Also Greta can be pretty mean if she doesn't get her way. Trust me, I've known her for 15 years." Jon's eyebrows hike up at that. But it's true when he thinks about it. Jon's only known her a couple of weeks and even though she looks pretty and sweet, Greta runs the inn with an iron fist.

"Most of the time, you don't even know it, huh?" he says to Bob, getting another laugh.

"Nope."

Jon rises and reaches out to shake Bob's hand again. "All right then. When do I start?"

"Hmm, let's see." Bob scratches at his beard. "I've got Faller on the lunch shift tomorrow. If you want to come in around three, that'll be after the lunch rush but a few hours before things really start to get going for the evening. We should be able to get some training done then. Sound good?" He looks at Jon for approval.

"Yeah, yeah." He realizes he's nodding way too much and stops. "Sounds great."

Bob gives him a wide smile. "Good. Now go check on Urie." He nods toward the front of the bar. When Jon turns to look, there's Brendon pressed to the glass, his hands cupped so that he can see inside.

"I've got several months until he's legal and I'd like to keep peace of mind for every single moment of that time." He wanders back toward the bar with a mumbled, _And my bar in one piece_. Over his shoulder, he hollers, "See you tomorrow!"

Jon’s in a slight daze when he steps outside. The sun is blindingly bright after the dim interior of the bar and he has to blink several times before he can see clearly. Brendon's practically bouncing on his toes when Jon's vision clears.

"You got it, right? I mean, Greta totally–"

"Greta totally called him before we got here, I'm sure," Jon interrupts. He smiles widely a moment later though and Brendon grins back. "But yes, as of now, I am gainfully employed."

"Sweet! We should totally go celebrate!" Jon falls into step with Brendon as they start walking. "How about we go to Carden's? It's cannoli Tuesday. Or hey, we could hit up The Beanery. I know you like their coffee, right?" Brendon stops abruptly and Jon takes a couple more steps before stopping. Turning around he can see Brendon with his eyes closed, taking a deep breath. It’s obvious he’s trying to calm himself down.

Jon watches him, curious. "Brendon?"

Finally Brendon opens his eyes and Jon asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Brendon answers quietly. Dropping his gaze, he bites his lip, looking everywhere but at Jon.

"You're kind of freaking me out a little bit, Bden. What's wrong?" Jon asks, taking a step closer. Brendon's eyes snap to his and he answers quickly, "Nothing, I swear. I'm just–" He breaks off, a blush on his cheeks. "I'm just really glad you're staying. That's all."

Jon can't help smiling at that. Brendon's back to looking at his feet, so Jon steps back next to him and slings an arm around his shoulders.

"Tell you what. Why don't we go pick up some cannoli, grab some coffee, and you can show me my new abode. How's that sound?" He squeezes a little, tugging Brendon into his side more firmly.

Brendon looks up, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"That sounds like a plan. Roomie," he adds a second later, making Jon laugh. It feels good.

>>*<<

  
Life continues on and Jon settles in.

Brendon tries to sneak into the bar at least once a week and Jon has to reluctantly kick him out. Thanksgiving is actually a quiet affair, Jon and Brendon joining Greta, Bob, and a nice couple with two adorable little girls. It makes Jon's heart ache looking at them, dark-haired and blue-eyed, but they adore him. After the meal, everyone sits in the living room while Brendon sings a few songs with Greta. The girls vie for Jon's attention, and his lap space, until he picks the both up and they settle back into the couch. It's the first time that Jon gets to see Brendon play.

This Brendon is different.

His attention is entirely focused on the keys beneath his fingers, the line of his back taut. It's not stress, but discipline, Jon notes. Brendon plays like that's all there is for him, everything is in that particular note, that particular moment. It makes Jon ache for his guitar.

Brendon and Greta play a duet, _Baby, It's Cold Outside_ , making faces at each other until both of them collapse against each other in laughter. It's a wonderful evening.

Later, when Jon calls his mom, something must show in his voice because something changes in hers. She asks him to come home, but this time, there's no anger, no guilt.

And when he says no, she just says _okay_.

~

Jon's on his way back from the store, hands shoved deep into his pockets and a plastic sack hanging from his wrist, when he hears it.

The sound is barely audible, but pitiful. A blast of cold air sweeps inside his hoodie and Jon grits his teeth. Chicago winters are cold, but Lorelei Springs has definitely been giving his hometown a run for her money over the last month. Jon stops, cocking his head and a second later, the sound comes again.

He looks longingly at the door to the apartment complex less than half a block away and then turns down the alley. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he traces the sound behind a small dumpster not too far from the street. The sound comes again and Jon knows exactly what he's going to find when he squats down beside an overturned cardboard box.

With soft reassuring sounds, he reaches into the box and wraps a hand around a small mass of shivering fur. There's a nip at his finger, teeth sharp before a tiny tongue rasps against his skin. The kitten barely fits in the palm of his hand, she's so small.

"Where's your mom, huh?" Jon asks softly, curling the kitten up against his chest, trying to block the wind. He looks around for a minute, searching for the mom, but gives up when another sad mewl hits the air. Looking down, there are tiny, tiny claws digging into his hoodie.

"Shitshit, you are too little. Jesus." With one last look down the alley, Jon tugs the kitten's claws out of the material, tucking it into his hoodie pocket. With a hand curled around its body, Jon heads back to the apartment.

It's a bit of a struggle with one hand in his pocket and a plastic bag hanging off the other one, but he manages to unlock the door. Moving inside, the sets the bag in the fridge and heads straight for the living room. There’s a standing heater set up since their own has been acting up lately. Taking a seat on the floor nearby, he leans back against the recliner. The kitten seems reluctant to leave its warm cocoon, but readily curls into Jon’s palm once he gets it free. With his other hand, he starts running his fingers over the tiny head and down its back.

This is how Brendon finds him an hour later when he stumbles into the apartment. The kitten jerks a little at Brendon's bright, "Hello!" but settles back to sleep quickly.

"Jon? You home?" Brendon comes around the couch, stopping at the sight in front of him. "Oh."

Coming closer, he bends down, settling down on his knees in front of Jon. "What'cha got there, Jon Walker?"

His eyes are soft as he stares at the tiny bundle in Jon's lap. The kitten stirs at the sound of a new voice so close. Lifting its head, it blinks a couple of times and lets out a soft meow. Jon watches Brendon's face soften even further.

"Hey there, pretty," Brendon coos softly. Reaching out, he mimics what Jon has been doing for a while, running a couple fingers over the kitten's head. Against his hand, Jon can feel a hesitant rumble. After a second, it steadies and he can't help grinning.

Brendon looks at him. "What?"

Jon just shakes his head, answering, "Purring. It feels funny." Brendon smiles widely back at him.

They both sit there, watching Brendon pet the kitten. Finally, the kitten starts to wake up, shifting around until it’s up on four feet. Brendon pulls his hand back and the kitten follows it. Brendon sets his palm flat on the floor a few inches away from Jon's legs and the kitten stops, contemplating the distance. It takes a step forward and Jon can feel its tiny claws gripping into the material of his jeans. He's about to pick it up and place it on the floor when the kitten goes for it, half-jumping, half-tumbling from its perch to the floor.

It's not a perfect, but it shakes off the awkward landing and moves toward Brendon's hand. Brendon drums his fingers and it hops an inch back, tail puffing out. Both Jon and Brendon are doing their best not to laugh. Repeating the motion draws the kitten closer and a second later, it pounces.

Brendon can't help it and finally laughs out loud. It startles the kitten again, but before it can go anywhere, Brendon scoops it up. Holding it up in front of his face, he asks Jon, "Boy or girl?"

"I think it's a girl, but I'm not sure. Another week or two and it should be more obvious."

"Man," Brendon tucks the kitten against his chest, stroking over its head. The kitten settles almost instantly. "She's tiny, Jon. Where'd you find her? Has she eaten yet?"

Jon holds up a hand. "Slow down, Bden." He sighs, staring at the small bundle of fur against Brendon's chest. "And yeah, she's really small. I'm pretty sure she's only 3-4 weeks old, if that." Recounting the story of the alley and the lack of a mother cat, he finishes up with, "And no, I haven't fed her yet. I'm not sure if we'll have to drop feed her or if she's capable of eating on her own yet. I guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Totally." Brendon's already nodding. "I can always run to the pharmacy and see if they've got droppers if we need to." Jon lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and Brendon frowns at him. "Did you think I wouldn't let you keep her? _Jon_." Another frown, disappointed this time.

Jon rushes to reassure Brendon. "No, no! I just wasn't sure what the policy on pets was, that's all."

Brendon looks a little shifty. "What the Super doesn't know doesn't hurt him." He looks down; the kitten's already fallen back to sleep. "It's not like she takes up much space."

After a moment, he looks up at Jon. "What are you going to name her?"

Without hesitation, Jon answers. "Dylan."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Of course you are." Jon narrows his eyes and Brendon hastily adds, "Dylan is a grand name for a kitten. Epic even!"

It's Jon that rolls his eyes this time. Brendon goes back to rubbing Dylan's belly. A second later, he says, "We should totally teach her how to play fetch!"

And that, Jon thinks, _is_ an epic idea.

 

 

Dylan is ridiculously smart.

"Oh my god, Jon, our cat is ridiculously smart." Brendon's smiling so hard, Jon wonders that his face doesn't hurt. But it's true, their cat _is_ smart. Jon crouches down and runs a hand down Dylan's back. She arches up and then flops on her side, batting at his hand. He rubs a hand over her belly and she looks affronted before curling around his hand. Jon laughs as she starts purring.

"I swear, you are the only cat I've ever known who likes having her belly rubbed." Jon pulls his hand away and she digs in a little, reluctant to let him go.

"Seriously, Jon. She's a genius."

Jon finally manages to get his hand loose and Dylan pops up, gives him a dirty look and stalks towards the kitchen. Jon looks over at Brendon. Dylan had picked up fetch ridiculously easily. She came when you whistled for her (usually) and Jon was sure they were _this close_ to getting her to use the toilet. Unfortunately, that last one kind of freaked Brendon out a little, so Jon was thinking about letting it go.

"What did she do now?"

"I'm pretty sure that she figured out how to open her food box."

That makes Jon's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

Brendon nods, adding, "I saw her rubbing her head on this morning, right? So I fed her since the bowl was empty, but I only gave her like half a scoop since we seriously need to go pick up more cat food. And bread. We're nearly out of bread–"

"Brendon."

Shaking his head, Brendon says, "Right. So I fed her, but not as much as usual and when I got home the latch on the food box was popped."

Jon gives him a skeptical look. "That doesn't really mean she opened it. Maybe you just forgot to close it properly."

Glaring, Brendon says, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jon."

Jon runs his hands over Brendon's head, ruffling his hair. Snorting, Brendon ducks away and reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Jon's knees. A second later, Jon's on his ass and Brendon's grinning at him. He's about to retaliate when there's a quiet _pop_ from the kitchen. Frowning, Jon looks at Brendon. A smug smile starts spreading across his face, even as Jon says, "No way."

They both scramble toward the kitchen.

Turns out their cat really _is_ a genius.

~

It gets progressively colder after Thanksgiving, and a week before Christmas they get their first snow. It's not a lot, just a couple of inches, but Brendon dances around in it like he's never seen it before.

"Of course, I've seen snow, Jon!" He rolls his eyes. "But I come from the desert, so it's a rarity. And last year was pretty mild even for Lorelei Springs."

Brendon still doesn't talk much about himself. Which is fair, given that Jon's not said much either since that night at the inn. But the little slip, about living in the desert, is new.

"Ah, so you're a sand baby then?" He keeps his tone as nonchalant as possible.

Brendon's tone is distracted when he answers, his attention held by something in the window in front of him. "More like a bright lights and showgirls baby really. Vegas isn't known for much else, right?"

Jon hums an agreement, filing away the information for later. Stepping up beside Brendon, he sees what's got Brendon's interest so intently. It's an acoustic guitar. The black lacquer gleams even though only a few rays of sunshine make through the low-lying cloud cover of the day. Gold filigree paint curls along one side of the guitar. It's faded in some spots, as if someone's spent too much time shining her, keeping her beautiful.

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Brendon breathes. Jon nods, unable to take his eyes off her.

Brendon abruptly stands up. "You should buy her," he tells Jon.

Startled, Jon looks at him. "What?"

"You've missed playing, I know you have. And I've told you that you can play mine any time, but you won't. So." He shrugs. "You need one of your own and you should buy her."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jon turns away from the window. "We've got rent to pay and mouths to feed, Bden. I don't have the money to spare."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Bullshit. I can take care of the rent for this month." Jon starts to protest. "I was doing it _before_ you moved in, Jon Walker. It's not going to kill me."

"No." Shaking his head, Jon repeats, "No. Christmas is in a week and I have to get something for Greta and Bob and–" _you_ "–and Mom and Dad, my brothers. I don't need to buy a guitar."

"But she's so pretty," Brendon whines, looking back into the window. Jon decidedly doesn’t look himself. With a sigh, he tugs Brendon away. The snow is starting to fall again and they need to make sure their heater is going to hold through the night. The repairman is supposed to come tomorrow and check it out, but it's been making ominous noises again.

"Come on. She'll find a home, I promise." He does look back this time, adding softly, "Something like that, something that's been taken care of, well, someone will keep her, okay?"

Brendon makes sad eyes at the guitar again, but lets himself be pulled away. Neither of them says much on the way home.

~

It's been months now, and excepting that last night at the inn, Jon's being doing okay. Every so often, he'll be doing something and turn, thinking _Cassie should see that_ or _Cassie would love this_ , but they're only occasional lapses. Jon's prepared for Christmas, he _is_. He and Brendon are supposed to head up to the inn after they wake to join Bob and Greta and whatever guests are currently in residence.

At noon, he's still in bed, lying on his side and staring out the window. Brendon’s been shuffling quietly through the apartment for the last two hours. The phone has rang twice.

There's the murmur of Brendon's voice and a moment later, a soft knock on his door. Jon doesn't respond. Brendon appears in his line of sight, squatting down to look him in the eye. "Not so much, huh?" he asks. His voice is quiet, sympathetic without being pitying. Jon just shakes his head against his pillow.

With a sigh, Brendon stands up. Jon can hear him leave, but a minute later he's back. He sets a coffee cup, steam rising out of it, onto the bedside table and runs a hand over Jon's hair. He turns and Jon expects him to be leaving, so it's a surprise when the bed dips behind him. The sheets shift and Jon rolls onto his back, looking over. Brendon's made himself comfortable, arms behind his head. He's staring at the ceiling, eyes half-shut, face relaxed.

"What are you doing?" Jon's voice is rough; it's the first thing he's spoken all day.

Brendon looks over at him, eyebrows rising. "Celebrating Christmas." His voice has a definite _duh_ quality and Jon frowns.

"You could still head up to the inn, you know."

"Nah, I called Greta and said we were going to stay in today."

Jon makes a disapproving noise and Brendon pulls a hand out from behind his head and gestures toward the window. It's snowing again, the flakes large and sticky. "Besides," Brendon continues, "I think we'd get stuck up at the inn later, given how it's snowing right now and then I couldn't give you your present."

Excitement bleeds through Brendon's tone towards the end and Jon feels even worse. Something must show on his face because Brendon rolls onto his side and looks at Jon. "It's better this way, I think." He grins. "The two loners. Just us against the world, Jon."

He can't help the small smile at Brendon's enthusiasm, despite the way his chest aches at the words. "Sorry," Jon mumbles anyway. Brendon waves that off, too.

"S'not like Greta's not going to bring us a crap-ton of food," he says. "At least we won't starve in the coming month." That's true. They'd eaten for nearly two weeks on the leftovers from Thanksgiving.

At the mention of food, Jon's stomach grumbles and a second later, Brendon's gives a gurgle in response. The look on his face is comical, and Jon feels a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “You should eat.”

Shaking his head, Brendon says, “Nope, nope. I am comfortable, JWalk. I’m not going anywhere.” He doesn’t look at Jon, just closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “No’gonna move,” he mumbles again, and a few minutes later, he’s asleep.

Jon studies the profile in front him, watching the rise and fall of Brendon’s chest until his own eyes drift closed.

 

 

“Close your eyes, close them!”

Brendon can barely keep still, he’s so excited. Dylan’s taken up residence under the table to get away from all the noise and Jon almost wishes he could do the same. Instead, he’s sitting in the middle of the couch while Brendon jumps from foot to foot. It’s still so surprising sometimes, how much energy one body can have.

“Jonnnnn.”

“Fine, fine.” Jon waves a hand about, closing his eyes. “There. They’re closed. Happy?”

“Ecstatic! Hold on–“ Jon can hear Brendon shuffle out of the room, then come back in a moment later. There’s a light pressure on his bare toes, Brendon’s socked feet pressing down on his for a split second. Jon pushes up with his toes, smiling, and Brendon blurts, “Open your eyes.”

It’s just like he remembers it; the filigree worn in spots but the body gleams, even in their half-lit living room. He’s almost afraid to touch it.

His hesitation must show because Brendon’s smile fades and he asks tentatively, “Do you not like it?”

“No!” Jon protests. “God, Brendon. I _love_ it. I just.” He’s at a loss for words, doesn’t know how to express how grateful and astounding the gift is to him. Reaching out, he hesitates. “Can I–?”

“Duh. It’s _yours_ , silly.”

Jon tucks it under his arm, running a thumb across the strings. Unsurprisingly, the instrument’s been tuned and Jon picks out a quick little melody. When he looks up, Brendon is back to shifting from one foot to the other.

“What?” Jon asks.

He bites his lip, looking unsure. “Are you going to name her?” he finally asks. “Some people think it’s stupid to name instruments, but I don’t. I mean, I don’t name _all_ of mine, but the special ones, you know? I think some of them just tell you, let you know what–“

“Betty.”

“–they want to be called. What?” Brendon stops abruptly, finally catching Jon’s response.

“Betty,” Jon repeats. “I’m going to call her Betty.”

A slow smile spreads across Brendon’s face, and Jon grins back.

 

 

Brendon can’t seem to stop running his hands over it, turning it this way and that, watching the red streak appear then disappear.

Maggie had found this case, clear and nearly seamless, to put the glass piece in. It had rubber over each corner, “ –so even if it gets dropped, the chances of it breaking are low,” Jon points out. Brendon just hums, turning the piece again.

“So.” Jon can’t believe he’s this anxious over a gift. “You like it?”

Brendon finally looks up, eyes wide.

Jon doesn’t get an actual answer, but the hug Brendon gives him speaks for itself.

~

Jon's got a few minutes before the start of his shift, so he slides onto a stool at the far end of the bar and opens the envelope in his hands. He keeps his fingers to the edges as he slides the photos out, putting them side by side on the counter. The printer did a fantastic job and Jon can't help the little thrill of quiet pride that races through him.

The photos are of the back acreage at the inn, the field Jon had walked those first few days. The tree line springs up, the sun painting the tips of the forest in gold. The second picture is the same shot, only this time snow covers everything. The sun still peaks over the top of the trees, but pink is the predominant color this time. Shades of blue make the snow look even more ethereal. Jon's favorite part though, is the tiny trail of tracks in one corner.

Jon's wondering how much it will cost to frame them because Greta deserves the best–Jon's pretty sure she'll do that hand-flappy thing that means she's about to cry but won't admit it–when a voice over his left shoulder says, "Those are awesome, Walker. You take 'em?"

Looking over his shoulder, he tells Bob, "Yeah. I was just thinking about getting them framed for Greta." That gets a nod.

"Hell yeah, she'll love them. You know Greta, she'll do that thing–" Bob flaps his hand around in a wicked imitation of Greta and Jon grins. "Pretending that she's not about to cry her eyes out at you."

It makes Jon happy, knowing that he knows Greta that well. He smiles at Bob. "I'll have to make sure other-Bob's there. That's always–"

"– _hilarious_ ," Bob finishes, clapping Jon on the shoulder. It's true; Greta's husband is completely unable to handle his wife in tears.

A moment later, Bob tells him, "Oh yeah. You've got a visitor out back." Jon tilts his head, curious.

Bob sighs. "It's Brendon and I'm fairly sure he lost the key to the apartment. Again."

Jon rubs a hand over his face. At least once a week, Brendon misplaces his key. It never stays lost though. They always find it eventually. It's always in the weirdest places though. The last time, Jon had found it in the spice cabinet. Jon's convinced it's an elaborate ploy to get into the bar.

Bob has some kind of built-in Brendon!radar and Brendon never gets more than two steps inside the building. Last week, while Bob had been out of town, Jon had to kick him out. Brendon's pouty face is ridiculous, but Jon still felt like a heel. All had been forgiven though when Jon came home with a 12-pack after his shift.

Sliding the photos back into the envelope, he stands up. "Can I–" He motions toward the back office with his chin and Bob waves him off with a, "Of course, yeah." He sets the envelope on Bob's desk and heads toward the back entrance.

When Jon opens the door, Brendon's leaning against the wall, trying to make rings with his exhalations. The remnants of the last snow are melting at his feet and his cheeks are red. He grins at Jon, pushing off the wall.

"Hey, so–"

~

The draft of cold air along his back brings him up to consciousness, but it's not until Brendon's frigid toes curl around his ankles that Jon wakes fully. "Jesus _Christ_ –"

"The heater's dead," Brendon interrupts, wriggling as close as possible to Jon. He's shaking hard enough to make the bed move.

"What about Dylan?" Jon asks and gets a, "Your concern for my well-being is duly noted, Jonathan Jacob Walker," and a really, really cold nose against his shoulder. Brendon drags the covers over his head and Jon can hear the muffled, "She's curled up in the dirty clothes basket. She couldn't be happier." Their cat is smart, yes, but also a little weird.

Now that Jon's fully awake, he can tell how cold it actually is in the apartment. Another shiver from Brendon and he ducks under the covers as well. The air is a little stuffy, but it's warm. Brendon's wiggly, but Jon's used to it and he's about to drift off again when he hears his name.

"Jon?"

Brendon's voice is quiet and a bit hesitant.

"Yeah?" he murmurs.

"It gets this cold in Chicago, doesn't it?" Another shiver and Jon scoots a little closer, willing some of his body heat in Brendon's direction. Before he can answer, Brendon goes on. "It doesn't really get cold in Vegas, you know. Matt and Mike used to make fun of me when I was little, 'cause I'd get cold in the middle of summer."

Jon holds his breath.

Brendon hasn't said much about his family, but Jon finds him sometimes, staring down at the cell phone in his hand, like it has all the answers. Whenever he tries to ask about them though, Brendon shuts down as quickly as Jon ever has about Cassie. So Jon doesn't ask very often.

"They'd make fun of me–" Brendon repeats, "But Kara–my sister, Kara?" he offers and Jon makes an affirming noise. "She'd bring a blanket and we'd sit on the couch all snuggled together until I was warm again." Brendon goes quiet again after that. Jon wants to ask so many questions, but he holds his tongue and waits.

"I call the house sometimes." The confession is barely audible, but loud enough under the stuffy darkness of the blankets. "But every time, my mom. Her voice–" His voice breaks and Jon rolls over, wrapping an arm around him. "I always hang up when I hear her. So _stupid_." Brendon isn't crying, but the _cowardcowardcoward_ repeated against Jon's neck is ragged.

Jon pulls him in closer, whispering, "Oh, Bden." He holds on until Brendon's breathing evens out, until his own eyes are too heavy to keep open.

They really _are_ a pair.


	3. Chapter 3

  
~

Brendon may have warned him all those months ago about intolerance, but as Jon looks around, none of that is evident. Half the town is crowded inside the walls of the bar. Going up on his toes, Jon looks around for the birthday boy.

Greta and Carden are having a heated discussion in one corner, Bob's arm curved around her shoulders. Jon drags his gaze across the room, eyebrows rising. Who knew that the 60-year old librarian could move like that? He pops his arm up, snapping a quick crowd shot, before moving on. Half-turning, he bumps into someone. An apology is on his lips when he continues around to find the object of his search standing next to him.

The Beckett's oldest son is draped across Brendon, long limbs wrapped around his shoulder. It looks a little ridiculous; Bill has a good six-plus inches on Brendon. Jon frowns. "Brendon–"

"Jon!" Brendon interrupts. "Jonjonjon, is it time for presents yet?"

The enthusiastic question is helped along by a flailing arm, beer in hand. It's mostly empty, so only a few drops land on Jon's shoes. As much as he hates them, Jon’s glad the dress code for work requires them.

"You've already opened your presents," Bill slurs helpfully. Brendon gives him a disdainful look, before saying, "I haven't opened _Jon's_ present yet." Another arm fling and Jon reaches out.

Brendon’s drunk, but not horribly so. Jon pops the beer out of Brendon's hand, making his way around the back of the bar. Brendon pouts at the glass of water that lands on the counter in front of him, but accepts it readily when Jon tells him, "Give it a bit, Bden, then I'll let you have your present. Okay?"

Brendon nods, taking a big gulp of water even as Bill tugs him away. Brendon looks back over his shoulder before they disappear into the crowd, a wide smile spreading across his face. His face is flushed from the alcohol and the heat inside the bar, there's a brightness in his eyes that belies more than the alcohol and Jon can't help grinning back.

 

 

A handful of people are still hanging around as Jon slides the last batch of wine glasses back onto the rack. Brendon's slumped over the bar, head on his forearms. Something garbled comes from his general direction and Jon pokes the top of his head. "What?"

Although his eyes are a little red-rimmed when he looks up, there's no slur to Brendon’s words when he says, "Thank you."

Jon tilts his head to the side. "For what?" He hasn't even given Brendon his birthday present yet.

"For not letting me get thoroughly trashed." He points a knowing finger at Jon. "Although, I believe a horrific hangover is a rite of passage for any newly turned 21-year-old."

Jon shrugs, grinning. "I've seen you hung over, dude. I was just sparing myself all the moaning and groaning."

"Lies, Jon Walker. Horrible, horrible lies. You love me and didn't want me to suffer unduly." Jon wipes down the bar one last time. That's not entirely untrue. Tossing the dishtowel in the wash basket, he looks back up.

"You ready for your present?" Brendon nearly falls off the stool in his haste, causing Jon to laugh.

"Really?" He makes grabby hands at Jon. " _Finally?_ ">

There's so much enthusiasm on Brendon's face that for a second, Jon's a little unsure if his present is as good as he thinks it is. Shaking it off, he motions for Brendon to stay there and heads back into Bob's office. He didn't bother to wrap it, just having found the right frame this morning.

When he gets back out to the bar, Brendon's shifting back and forth, one foot to the other. He's obviously making an effort, hands behind his back. Jon looks down at the photo in his hands and mumbles, "It's kind of lame, especially since I keep giving them out–" Greta's got hers right behind the reception desk. It makes Jon blush every time he walks in. "But I think you'll really like this one."

He hands it over.

It's Brendon and Bo, back in the fall before the weather had turned and Bo took off for parts unknown again. The two of them are sprawled across the forest floor–Brendon on his back, the wolf laying opposite him, head resting on Brendon's out-flung arm–looking at each other, the sun dancing over the two of them.

It takes Brendon two tries before he speaks. His voice breaks on Jon's name and Jon rolls on up on his toes for a second before he asks, "You like it then?"

Brendon sets it carefully on the bar, lip between his teeth, before he flings his arms around Jon. The hug is almost uncomfortable, but Jon hugs back. There's a whispered _Thanks for staying_ in his ear and he nods. He's about to let go when the door to the bar opens.

"Sorry–" Jon clears his throat. The guy's a little scruffy, not that Jon's one to talk right now. "Sorry," he says again. "We're closing up." Brendon doesn't move, his arms still tight around Jon.

"Yeah, I apologize. It's just that, um, someone outside–" He motions over his shoulder, "–said that I might be able to find Brendon here? Brendon Urie?"

Jon frowns even as Brendon goes absolutely still against him. The stranger's eyes, bright blue even across the room, sharpen on the two of them.

"Brendon?" he asks.

_Oh._

Jon doesn't say anything in the quiet that follows. Brendon is so still that Jon's not even sure he's breathing. He tightens the arm still wrapped around Brendon. "Bden?"

Spencer frowns at the nickname, taking a couple of steps forward. Brendon finally turns around, staring at the floor and avoiding Spencer's gaze. As a show of support, Jon keeps an arm around his waist. The air is full of tension, neither Brendon nor Spencer seemingly willing to speak first. It gives Jon time to study Spencer.

He knows that Spencer's a few months younger than Brendon, which means he shouldn't even be in the bar. But there's a quiet confidence in him that belies his age. He's taller than both Jon and Brendon, but not as tall as Bill. Jon can picture it, Brendon and Spencer, on a college campus somewhere. They'd look good together.

Shaking the thought away, Jon opens his mouth to break the silence when Spencer does it for him.

"Happy Birthday.”

Although the words are quiet, they spur Brendon into motion. Jon's arm falls away as Brendon steps toward Spencer. "What the fuck are you doing here, Spence?"

"Well." A muscle twitches in his jaw. "It took me nearly two years to find my best friend's sorry ass–" From the corner of his eye, Jon catches Brendon's fingers curl into a fist. "–or I would have been here sooner."

Brendon looks away, not responding, and Spencer visibly deflates.

There's exhaustion is in every line of his body, tiredness in the way his shoulders slump. Running a hand through his hair, Spencer sighs.

"Bden–" His gaze glances over at Jon before moving back to Brendon. "Brendon, I don't want to fight. I just–" He sighs again. "You disappeared. I came back from Econ and you were–you were just _gone_." He moves forward and Brendon jerks, pulling away from Jon's arm and moving behind him.

"I can't do this," Brendon mutters. Jon reaches out, but his hand gets ignored.

"Brendon–" Spencer protests, moving forward. But Brendon's already slipped through to the back by the time Spencer reaches Jon. He moves to follow, but Jon stops him, a hand on his arm. Spencer glares at him, but Jon holds on.

"You should give him some time," Jon tells him. "Brendon _will_ cool down. He's just a little overwhelmed right now." He offers Spencer a small smile. "You know that, right?"

Some of the tension seeps out him, but Spencer's voice is still a little belligerent when he says, " _I_ know that, yeah." Spencer swings around to face him fully. From this close, he's a little intimidating. Jon doesn't move. "How do you? Are you his boyfriend?"

Choking on a startled laugh, Jon says, "What? No!" He can feel his cheeks getting warm and he hurries on with, "No, of course not. Just a friend."

"Oh." The tension in Spencer's body eases. "Okay."

Something makes Jon add, "Best friend." Spencer's mouth tightens, but doesn't say anything else.

The two of them stand there in silence until Jon gives himself a little mental slap. He asks, "So you just got in, right?" Spencer nods. "Got a hotel room yet?" A head shake this time. Jon nods himself. "Well, if you'll wait out front, I can lock up and show you the closest motel. Sound good?"

A flash of relief crosses Spencer's face before it settles back to cool neutral. "I'd appreciate it. Please," he adds as an afterthought, tone polite.

It makes Jon grin for some reason.

~

Greta's starting to fret by the time noon rolls around the next day. After the fourth time Jon's phone beeps with a text message, he rolls out of bed and heads toward Brendon's room. His door had been closed last night when Jon finally got home, locked tight. An obvious sign that Brendon was not ready to talk.

The door is wide open when Jon shuffles down the hallway. Frowning, he pokes his head inside.

"Brendon?"

The sheets are rumpled, but since Brendon hardly ever makes the bed anyway, Jon can't really tell if Brendon slept in his own bed. He moves further down the hallway, raising his voice, "Brendon?"

The only response is Dylan, meowing plaintively as she wanders out of the kitchen. Jon reaches down and the cat lifts up to bump his fingers.

"Where did he go, Bid D?" he asks. She meows again and sits back, looking up at him. His phone beeps again.

 _JON WALKER_.

He groans, Greta's worry is evident in every capital letter. _WHERE DID YOU HIDE THE BODY OF MY REPAIRMAN?_ A few seconds later: _AND WHO IS THE BLUE-EYED HOTTIE EATING LUNCH AT CARDEN'S?_

"Jesus," Jon mutters. News travels ridiculously fast. Shaking his head, Jon makes his way back to his room to get dressed.

 

 

It takes Jon a little while, but he finally figures out where Brendon's hiding.

"You realize you're going to have to come down and talk to him eventually, right?"

Jon climbs over a couple of haystacks, settling in beside Brendon. "Spencer doesn't strike me as a particularly patient kind of guy."

Brendon huffs out a laugh. "He's not." Slumping sideways, he rests his head on Jon's shoulder. After a second, he mumbles, "Took you long enough, JWalk."

That earns Brendon a poke in the leg. "Hey, I had a long night." That gets a snort. He adds, "Also, I had to go through the Greta Inquisition. She wanted to know about Spencer." Brendon stiffens a little next to him. "But since I don't know much and it's not my story, I couldn't tell her much."

"Thanks," Brendon says quietly. They sit there, not saying anything.

Finally, Brendon breaks the silence with, "I just didn't really expect to see him again." There's a huge sigh. "You know?"

Jon nods. "Yeah, I get it." He bumps his head against Brendon's, adding, "But I'm fairly sure he's not going anywhere any time soon. So." Brendon sighs again.

A few minutes later, Jon nudges him with a shoulder. Standing up, he offers a hand. "Now come on, it's meatloaf tonight and I'm not missing that. Even for your lovelorn ass." Brendon glares, but lets Jon pull him to his feet without protest.

Greta's meatloaf is _really_ good.

~

As it turns out, Jon's right, Spencer stays ... and Brendon continues to ignore him like the plague. So Jon spends a lot of the next ten days rolling his eyes in Brendon's general vicinity while giving out hugs. Every time he tries to talk to him about it, Brendon changes the subject. Or puts on his headphones. Or turns the television up louder.

Spencer apparently gets fed up with it, too. Jon comes home to find him sitting in the hallway outside the apartment.

"Right," Jon mutters to himself as Spencer gets up. Once the door's open, he steps inside. Turning around, he looks at Spencer, standing tall and determined. "Right," he repeats.

"Come on in."

 

 

Spencer's surprisingly easy to talk to. They discuss the weather, _Stamps_ , and Carden's veggie lasagna. They discuss everything but Brendon.

It's not until his phone beeps with the message _you coming to dinner?_ from Greta, that Jon realizes they've been talking for over an hour.

"Hey," Jon says abruptly, interrupting Spencer's ode to The Beanery's iced chai latte freeze-thing. "You hungry?"

 

 

Dinner is an awkward affair.

Spencer keeps trying to engage Brendon in conversation, but gets a continuous cold shoulder. At one point, Brendon starts to get up and leave. Only he chooses exactly the wrong moment because Greta's passing behind him. She's obviously fascinated by the whole thing, so Brendon gets a hand on his shoulder.

Bob just looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

After dinner, Jon tries to catch Brendon, to talk to him, but Brendon just looks at him with those big, sad brown eyes. It's Spencer that puts a hand out this time, stopping him. Jon sighs and they both go help Greta clean up. It's a full on interrogation from that point on, but Bob manages to drag Greta away before any _really_ embarrassing questions.

Still, Spencer's face is bright red and he looks a little uncomfortable. Jon has to work really hard not to laugh.

 

 

It's a couple days later when Spencer 'bumps' into Jon as he's getting off work, and Jon thinks that there's really no reason for him to be ignoring Spencer too. Besides, it's his duty as a friend to check him out, so they wander around for an hour, finally up at The Beanery.

Spencer is wickedly sarcastic and still easy to talk to, Jon finds. It's a little after eleven by the time he gets back to the apartment. The door to Brendon's room is shut again, the sound of Jimmy Eat World floating down the hallway. There's no answer when Jon knocks. Shaking his head, Jon heads down to his own room.

Brendon will come around eventually. Spencer means too much to him, Jon knows, to keep himself closed off for too long.

At least that's what he's hoping.

~

"Hey."

Jon looks up to find Brendon standing behind the couch, a tentative smile on his face. Even though he can't see, Jon knows from the set of his shoulders, that Brendon's hands are shoved deep in to his pockets. He looks about twelve years old and Jon smiles back.

Spencer chooses that moment to lean his head back and say, "Brendonnnnnn." He grins and Brendon's smile strains just a little. And then he notices the beer bottle Spencer's currently waving around.

His eyes narrow and he turns to Jon. "Jonathan Jacob Walker. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor? Shame on you!" Jon can tell he's trying to lighten his mood, so he holds out his own beer and says, "Shhh, don't tell."

That gets him a grateful look as Brendon takes the proffered beverage. "He's a total lightweight, you know?" Indicating Spencer with his bottle, "Never partied when we were in college."

"Ryan didn't like it," Spencer mutters, waving his hand over the back of the couch a second later.

"Ryan?" Jon asks.

"His bff," Brendon responds, just as Spencer says, "George Ryan Ross!" He starts giggling and Jon looks at Brendon. Shrugging, Brendon takes a sip of his beer, leaning forward against the back of the couch.

"George Ryan Ross!!" Spencer repeats. Adding, "Brendon Boyd Urie!" He points to Jon. "Jonathan Jacob Wal–"

"-ker," Jon finishes, laughing at Spencer's delighted face. "Spencer Smith. Fits right in then, yeah?"

Spencer nods, a big grin still on his face. Jon makes a mental note to maybe not let him have so many next time. The thought is broken by Brendon's soft-spoken, "Spencer James Smith."

Spencer leans back again, a wide, toothy smile and mumbles, "S'right." He lifts his beer up and Brendon smiles back, clinking his own against it.

~

Spencer's phone beeps, interrupting him. Absently, he picks it up, doing a double-take at whatever's on the screen. "Shit." He flips it open and begins muttering, "Shitshitshit."

"What is it, Spence?" Jon asks. Brendon makes an inquisitive noise next to him. A second later, Spencer sighs loudly and flops back in his chair. Brendon pokes his leg. "Whatwhatwhat was the shitshitshit for?"

"The bank apparently called the house, to alert me on my balance." Spencer gives another heavy sigh. "And now Dad wants me to come home."

From the corner of his eye, Jon watches Brendon's face fall for a moment before he makes it carefully blank again. "That sucks," Brendon says and Jon agrees.

"Fuck," Spencer mutters, slumping back into his chair. "This seriously blows." Jon watches Brendon as he does his best not to stare at Spencer. Nobody says anything for a while.

 

 

They're on the way back to the apartment, an air of solemnity around them when Jon offers up, "You could try and get a job?"

He feels Brendon twitch beside him, but he doesn't say anything. Spencer grunts.

"It's off-season in a town that's hardly big enough to be a dot on the map–" Brendon makes a noise and Spencer waves hand. "You know what I mean, Bren." There's another sigh and Jon nearly laughs as they mirror each other, shoving hands deep in their pockets. "I'm pretty sure it's a lost cause."

They round the corner. Carden is outside his place, piling dirty plates into a tray. Jon nods at him, asking Spencer, "It's worth a shot though. Right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer snorts. Waving a hand toward Carden, he says sarcastically, "Hey Mike, can I have a job?"

He gets a, "Be here at six in the morning," and Jon has to reach out to steady Spencer when he stumbles. Carden hip-checks his way back into the restaurant without another word as they all stand there in surprise. Finally, Brendon starts laughing.

It's quiet at first, but pretty soon Jon's joining him, then Spencer. There's still a little shell-shock on Spencer's face, but the tension has left his shoulders. Without looking, Jon knows Brendon looks the same.

As they continue walking, Spencer says, "What the hell _is_ this town?" Jon laughs again.

Lorelei Springs is something else indeed.

~

So Spencer stays again and Jon watches Brendon slowly get used to this fact. Mostly.

Once, about a month or so after Spencer starts at Carden's place, Jon walks through the apartment door in time to hear Spencer half-shout, "I'm not fucking leaving, dammit!"

Both their heads swivel in Jon's direction and he can see the tension in Brendon's jaw, the way his teeth are clenched. Jon says nothing, just raises his eyebrows. A moment later, Brendon turns, crossing his arms and heading toward his room. He throws a terse, " _Whatever_ ," over his shoulder. The door slams behind him.

"Oh my god," Spencer mutters."He's twelve, I swear."

Jon's got a pretty good idea, but he asks anyway. "What's going on?"

"I was stupid," Spencer replies. "I said something about sending a formal letter of withdrawal to school and he kind of lost his shit."

He deliberately doesn't think of the remaining semester on his own degree. Instead, "It _is_ a pretty big deal, Spence."

Jon throws up a hand at the glare he gets.

"Hey. I am the last person to cast a stone in this scenario, okay?" Spencer tilts his head at that, frowning. Jon hurries on, "You've obviously made your decision, right?"

Spencer nods.

"He'll get over it. Besides," Jon can't help adding. "He really likes having you here."

Spencer beams at him and Jon can't help but smile back. Spencer's smiles are more than a little contagious.

 

 

Later that night, Jon wakes to find Brendon sliding into bed next to him. He doesn't say anything, just lifts his arm and wraps a hand over Brendon's shoulder.

"This is a little gay, you know," Jon finally whispers, getting a snort and a quiet, "Shut up, Walker."

Sleep comes fairly quickly them both after that.

>>*<<

  
Jon watches.

It's something that he's always done and after everything that's happened, especially getting back into photography, he sees a lot.

He sees the ease with which Brendon and Spencer fall back into their friendship. Over a while, he watches Brendon lose that slightly tense edge that always seemed to be hiding under his skin. Spencer smiles all the time, effortlessly charming most everyone in his path. He's easy with touches, too. Something that Jon thinks is both a boon and a bane.

The sadness that used to make Jon's heart feel like lead doesn't press quite as hard now. Sometimes he almost feels guilty about that, like maybe he's forgetting Cassie. It's that, and the way Brendon leans into those easy hugs that makes him seek out Spencer one afternoon.

 

 

"So here's the deal, Spence."

Spencer's eyes snap open and he lifts his head off the wall as Jon steps up in front of him. His apron, emblazoned with Carden's ridiculous bird logo, is still pristine white even under the heat of the late summer sun. The thin skin under his eyes is a little dark, like he hasn't been sleeping. Jon feels bad for about two seconds before he remembers that he's here for Brendon.

"Here's the deal," he repeats, standing as tall as he can. "Brendon's more than a little in love with you. Which–" he holds a finger up as Spencer opens his mouth, straightening up, "you obviously know."

Spencer slumps back against the wall with a sigh. "Yeah, I do know." Jon watches the expressions trip over Spencer's face and after a second, leans a shoulder against the wall next to him.

"Here's the thing," he repeats, staring down at the towel Spencer's twisting in his hands. "You coming here completely threw him for a loop, right?" Spencer nods, keeping his own gaze down as well. "And he's still kind of messed up with the whole deal with this family–"

The hands tighten around the rag, knuckles going white before Jon hears a deep inhale and exhale next to him.

"-and I think it's pretty amazing that you came looking for him. It shows you obviously care about him."

Jon moves his gaze to Spencer's profile. Even with the beard, he notes vaguely, Spencer's still kind of pretty. It's easy to see why Brendon fell, really. Especially after getting to know him.

"You're a good guy, Spence." Jon says quietly. "And I can't say that I'm not happy myself for the chance to call you friend–" The corner of Spencer's mouth quirks up momentarily, but falls away at Jon's, "But I'm fairly sure that you're only making it harder on Brendon by staying here."

"What!?" Pushing off the wall, Spencer turns to Jon. Surprise is written all over his face. "You think I should leave?"

"I just–" Jon shrugs a shoulder. "What are you doing, Spence?"

Spencer shakes his head, confusion on his face. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jon asks, "Have you thought about it?"

"Thought about what?" Spencer's voice is getting lower, frustration and confusion making it rough.

"Brendon," Jon answers. He's getting a little frustrated himself. Spencer's not stupid, he knows this. " _Being_ with Brendon. Because that's what he wants, you know."

"That's what he wants and I'm pretty sure you're straight and you know what that means?" Jon pushes on without letting Spencer answer. "That means you're selfish, staying here, pushing, when you know how Brendon feels about you. You realize that, right? How selfish that is?"

He moves off the wall, stepping into Spencer's space and staring up at him. "He's in love with you, Spence. He wants to be with you, hold your hand when you walk down the sidewalk." Jon pokes Spencer in the chest. "He wants to _kiss_ you."

Spencer's eyes widen. Jon keeps pushing. "Have you thought about that? About kissing Brendon?" Spencer's mouth opens, but he doesn't say anything, looking away.

"It's selfish, you know? It's like–" Jon waves a hand. He's actually starting to get a little angry. "Like, putting a treat in front of an animal and leading it on. But never actually rewarding it. And you've never even kissed a boy before, have you–"

Jon stumbles a little, shoulder bumping the brick wall, as Spencer's mouth moves over his.

 

 

They don't talk about it.

Jon barely even lets himself think about it. It's just been a while, and the only person he'd kissed in years was Cassie. He's still lonely, that's all, and kisses are just kisses. So, yeah, he doesn't think about it.

Not the way Spencer crowded him. Having to tilt his chin _up_. The strange sensation of a beard against his own. Or how Spencer's lips were slightly chapped, a little rough.

 

They don't talk about it.

~

 

Spencer steps up his game after that, taking whatever Jon initiated in the alley like a challenge.

And to be honest, Jon doesn't catch it at first. He's too focused on trying to act normal. Which, there's no reason to _act_ natural. He's totally acting normal. Anyway.

It's not like Brendon doesn't love to touch, to be in people's space. Both Jon and Spencer oblige him easily, letting him slide under an arm (Spencer) or hang off his back (Jon). Brendon's very touch-oriented, comfortable in both their presences now. So no, Jon doesn't catch it at first.

It's not until he's bringing in a set of beers to movie night and sees Brendon tucked tight against Spencer side, talking a mile a minute about the sparrow that he'd had to catch up at the inn. They both look up, Brendon grabbing for his beer, that Jon looks past him to see the look on Spencer's face.

It's challenging, like he's expecting Jon to say something. The only reason Jon keeps his mouth shut, handing over Spencer's beer, is the slight uncertainty in his eyes.

 

 

It doesn't stop there.

Every time Jon turns around, it's _something_. Spencer standing too close, Spencer leaning in to talk to Brendon. He's holding doors and even pulls out Brendon's chair once. Brendon had burst out laughing, giving a curtsey in return. Spencer had put it off as a joke, but Jon catches the little frown on his face when he sits down.

It doesn’t take long before the attention starts to wear on Brendon.

Jon watches as the skin tightens around the corner of Brendon’s eyes every time Spencer touches him, the way his body tenses just a little when an arm gets thrown around his shoulders. There’s been no outright declaration of intentions on Spencer’s part and Jon watches as the attention just confuses Brendon more.

It’s obviously stressing Brendon out and Jon waits for Brendon to come talk to him. A coward’s way out, yes, but Jon’s not sure how to bring the whole thing up without something slipping about what happened in the alley.

He’s being a shit friend, something that’s stressing _him_ out. Brendon’s picked up on that, too, which only makes Jon feel even worse.

There’s a train wreck coming and Jon doesn’t have a clue how to stop it.

~

The birthday party for Spencer is in full swing, smaller than Brendon's, but a number of people had shown up. Enough that it takes Jon a second to get a glimpse of them when he hears Brendon's startled, "Spencer, wha-?" from across the room.

Spencer's been in Brendon's space ever more than usual tonight. Neither one had really noticed since they'd both been drinking. Sure enough, when Jon catches a view of them, there's a beer in Spencer's left hand. His other hand is resting on Brendon's hip, fingers curled into one of the belt loops there. As Jon watches, Spencer dips his chin down to say something. Before he can though, Brendon puts a hand on his chest and pushes back. His eyes look a little wild.

Jon starts moving.

Relief floods Brendon's face when he catches sight of Jon. He tries stepping away, but Spencer's not letting him get very far.

"Jon!"

"Hey guys," Jon says. Offering a small smile, he asks, "Having a good birthday, Spence?"

Spencer smiles, bright and wide. From the corner of his eye, Jon can see the tension in Brendon slip just a little. It's back in full force when Spencer continues, "It'd be even better if Brendon would come home with me."

Jon's shocked at the bluntness. So is Brendon. Twisting away, he grits out a terse, "What the _hell_ , Spencer?"

With a cocked hip, Spencer tells him, "I think I made it pretty clear."

"No." Brendon shakes his head, obviously startled by the whole thing. "No, it's really not. You're straight, Spencer." He says it like he needs it to be true. "Remember Haley? You're _straight_."

There's a flash of anger in Spencer's eyes and Jon reaches a hand out, but Spencer just glares at him before turning back to Brendon. "Maybe I'm not as straight at you think I am."

Brendon's responding laugh is startled, a tinge of hysteria on its edges. "Yes, Spencer, you are."

Jon sees the train wreck about to hit in the tiny glance Spencer sends his way. "Don't-" he warns in a low hiss. Spencer ignores him.

"I kissed Jon-" he flings a hand toward Jon as if there was any clarification needed. "And I liked it. So maybe I'm not as straight at you–"

"What?" Brendon interrupts, shock evident in his voice. Jon closes his eyes, breathing in. When he opens them again, Brendon's staring at him. "Jon?" He hates the way Brendon's voice sounds. Spencer stills next to them.

"Brendon–" Jon reaches out, but in a flurry of motion, Brendon pulls away, stepping back. The air around them is quieter now; Jon can feel eyes on the three of them standing there.

"Wow," Brendon spits out. "Not only kissing boys behind your best friend's back, kissing _Spencer_." He takes another stop back as Spencer puts a hand out. "Never would have guessed that one. Guess it's good then, right?"

Jon tries again. "Brendon–"

"Guess it's good that Cassie's dead then? Before she found that one out?"

Brendon's hurt, Jon knows, and he's definitely got a part to blame in it, but it's still kick to the chest to hear the words coming from Brendon's lips. He can feel Spencer frowning at him, confused and curious at this turn of events.

"Jon?"

He doesn't look at Spencer. It's just him and Brendon, standing there, staring at each other. Brendon's eyelashes flutter and he bites his lip. All the anger that was brewing just a minute ago is gone. He can see the remorse in Brendon's face.

"Jon–I,"

"Fuck you, B," Jon manages to breathe out, watching Brendon flinch. It's a small satisfaction.

He turns around and walks out of the restaurant, not looking back.

 

 

Spencer slides onto a stool across the bar from Jon. They don't talk, Jon popping the cap off a beer and setting it down on the bar as continues working.

"I'm sorry," Spencer finally blurts out as Jon makes his way back and forth behind the bar. "It was a total dick move last night. I know it and I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Jon stops. Elbows on the bar, he leans forward. "I know, Spence."

It gets him a wary smile and Jon can't stop his own in response. Pushing off, he grabs a wash rag and starts wiping down the bar. It's just past the lunch hour and the bar is quiet except for a couple regulars in the corner. He works in silence, Spencer drinking his beer.

"Who's Cassie?" Spencer asks. His voice is tentative. Jon glances sideways, studying him. Spencer looks tired, a little hung over. He also looks the slightest bit scared, like maybe he really, really fucked up. "Brendon won't talk to you, huh?" Jon says instead.

Spencer deflates, running a hand over his face. "No. No, he won't."

He can't help a small laugh. Spencer looks absolutely miserable. "He'll get over it."

"So who is Cassie?" Spencer asks again, voice still quiet on her name.

"Was," Jon corrects just as quietly. He looks up to find Spencer staring at him, concern written all over his face. Opening his mouth to wave it off, Jon finds himself spending the rest of the afternoon telling him about Cassie.

Spencer listens, and the weight on Jon's chest lifts a little further.

~

Jon stays at the inn for a couple of days, not knowing if he's even welcome at the apartment. Part of him isn't even sure if he _wants_ to go back to the apartment. Which, okay, that's a lie. By the third day, Jon finds himself sitting on the couch in the back room, missing his bed. And his cat. He especially misses Dylan.

And he misses his guitar.

And Brendon.

Jon sighs. He _does_ miss Brendon.

Greta's been giving him these looks over the table at dinner and he knows she's dying to ask. Fortunately, she's been able to hold her tongue, but Jon knows that's not going to last much longer, and to avoid as much awkward conversation as possible with her, he's going to have to go home eventually. Go home to awkward conversation with Brendon instead.

He should have just left well enough alone, dammit. Slumping back into the cushion, Jon flops his head back.

Brendon's there, barely out of the hallway, watching him.

Straightening up, Jon twists around. Neither of them says anything, just studying each other. There are dark circles under Brendon's eyes, like he hasn't been sleeping, and his hair is a mess. Jon's sure he doesn't look much better.

"Hey, B," Jon finally says, his voice low. Brendon's shoulders lower at the words and he scrambles around the couch. Before he knows it, Jon has an armful of Brendon, who keeps repeating _sorry_ over and over against his neck.

Hugging back tightly, Jon whispers his own apologies.

~

Brendon's reluctant at first, despite the fact that he's obviously in love with Spencer. But over the next few weeks, Spencer manages to wear him down. They go on their first "date" two weeks to the day of Spencer's birthday party.

 

 

He's sprawled across the couch, Dylan asleep across his left arm, when Brendon gets home. He wanders into the living room, looking a little dazed, fingertips to his bottom lip. Flipping the light on, he startles at the sight of Jon.

"Oh! I didn't think you'd still be up." His eyes narrow as he looks around. Jon had pretty much been sitting in the dark, no TV, just him and the cat. "Were you waiting up?"

"No." Jon says, sitting up. The cat protests the movement, although she barely opens her eyes to give him a dirty look before she rolls over and burrows into the seam of the cushions. She really is the strangest cat.

Brendon laughs, whether at the cat or his blatant lie, Jon's not sure. At least, not until Brendon crows, "You totally were!"

"Whatever," Jon mumbles. His left arm is a little numb where Dylan's laying across it. "Bid D and I were taking a nap."

Brendon leans against the couch arm, raising an eyebrow. "At 1:30 in the morning?"

 _"Fine, "_ Jon capitulates."I am the lame big-brother figure who waits up, okay?" A look passes over Brendon's face, quickly enough that Jon's not sure what it was. "How was it then?"

Brendon practically glows at the question, flopping down on the couch. A tiny bit of wistfulness coils through Jon. He remembers that feeling. Pushing it away, Jon puts an arm around Brendon's shoulders, pulling the both of them back into the cushions.

"Tell me."

 

 

The initial phase is bad. Watching the goofy eyes, and Brendon being so happy that it hurts, keeps pulling that wistful–Jon refuses to call it jealous–feeling from him. He keeps not thinking about it.

Then things get physical.

 

 

"Seriously, you guy.” Jon slaps the magnet harder than he probably needs to since it nearly bounces off the refrigerator. Pressing it down again, he continues, “I sit on that couch. I watch movies and drink beer on the couch.” There’s a muffled laugh behind him. He turns, eyes narrowing. Both Brendon and Spencer are trying really hard not to smile.

It _is_ funny, he admits, but still.

“My _cat_ sleeps on that couch, you guys.”

“ _Our_ cat, you mean.” Brendon rolls his eyes. “And it’s not like we were actually having the sex on the couch.”

“There were shirts off!” Jon flashes to the image of the two of them from earlier, when he’d walked through the door to find the two of them making out on the couch. “And hands! In places!”

It’s not like Jon’s a prude, but courtesy is courtesy. He points to the list now on the fridge, muttering “Read and follow,” before heading out of the room.

“When you’re done,” he adds, “I will be watching shit blowing up in the living room. On the couch. On the couch where there will be no nakedness.” Over his shoulder, Jon yells, “That’s rule three!”

Muffled laughter follows him to the other room.

>>*<<

  
The sun is painting the tops of the trees orange. They're both sweaty helping clean out the storage shed, but Brendon doesn't hesitate to curve into Jon's side when they finally sit down on the inn's porch swing. Jon lets himself sink into the comfortableness of the moment, the warmth of content that settles in his belly.

It's nice. Familiar.

The thought makes him still.

"Jon?"

Glancing over, he can see the curiosity on Brendon's face. Instead of replying to the question on his face, Jon just says, "You should go get us a beer, dude." Brendon's eyes narrow, but all he does is snort and respond with, "Your legs broken?" before flopping his head against the swing.

Jon moves his gaze back out over the front yard. "Yeah, yeah."

They sit there for a while, quiet, and Jon can't get the feeling to go away.

 

 

It rolls around and around in his head over the next day or so. He's quiet, enough that he catches Brendon watches him a couple of times. That doesn't really help either, knowing that Brendon's concerned. It's not until Spencer's back on a bar stool across from him again, that Jon realizes that the moment on the porch was affecting him more than he'd thought.

"You okay?" Spencer asks. He looks straight at Jon, intent.

Jon nods. "Of course."

He turns, pretending to be busy, but turns back around when Spencer says quietly, "You can talk to us, you know."

Spencer's staring down at his beer and Jon watches his ring finger and thumb as the twirl the bottle, sliding around the sweat beading on the glass. Glancing up, Spencer adds, "You _do_ know that, right?" Jon doesn't say anything. With a shrug, Spencer says, "I know you and I haven't known each other that long, but I think we're pretty good friends. I mean, I consider you one of my best friends."

It strikes Jon then, how young Spencer looks, how unsure. Then clear blue eyes meet his and Jon realizes that whatever he was feeling the other day, there in the still heat of the evening on the porch, isn't just for Brendon. His stomach drops.

Well shit.

~

_Jonathan?_

His mother's voice is tinny over the phone and for a split second, he considers hanging up. Instead, he says, "Hey, Mom."

_It's been a while, honey._

"Yeah," Jon answers, nodding like she could see him. "Sorry 'bout that." He can't think of anything to say and a moment later his mom says his name again, quieter.

_Everything okay?"_

"I think–" He pauses, biting his lip. "It's been a long time since I've been home."

 _Yes._ Her voice is subdued, neutral as she adds, _Are you thinking of coming back to Chicago?_

He notices how she doesn't say home. "Maybe," he mumbles. From the corner of his eye, he can see Betty. "Chicago sounds pretty good right now."

A noise in the hallway makes him turn. Brendon's standing in the door to his room, his eyes wide. They stare at each other for a long minute. Then Brendon turns sharply, walking away.

With a sigh, Jon sits down heavily on his bed.

_Honey?_

He starts talking.

 

 

His mother's last words keep echoing around and around his head.

_She wouldn't want you to not get better, Jonathan._

He stumbles around a customer coming out of Carden's and mumbles an apology.

_She wouldn't want you to never fall in love again._

That last beer after his shift probably wasn't the best idea, but Brendon's been avoiding him like the plague for the last two days, and he felt he'd deserved it. Spencer's suspicious absence was kind of grinding on his nerves, too.

Disgruntled by his own thoughts, Jon nearly misses Brendon's voice. He stumbles to a stop at the mouth of the alley.

Even from here, Jon can tell Brendon's upset. The line of his body is stiff, movements short and jerky. Spencer reaches out and curls a hand around his neck, and Brendon leans into the touch, eyes closing. Wrapping his other arm around Brendon, Spencer pulls him in until Brendon's cheek is resting against his chest.

There's a surge of something that Jon can't label anything but jealousy. It's followed lightning-quick by guilt. Brendon opens his eyes and looks right at Jon. A moment later, he turns his face into Spencer's neck, away from Jon.

As Jon watches, Spencer tips his chin down to say something. Brendon nods in response, fisting his hands into Spencer's t-shirt.

Jon finally makes his feet move, getting past the alley. He needs another beer.

 

 

Brendon doesn't come home that night. It's not the first time, but after earlier, it's a pointed absence.

~

"So–"

Greta slaps at his feet until Jon moves them down, giving her room to sit down. The movement makes swing shift, but Greta slides onto the bench with easy practice.

"I hear you might be leaving us soon."

Jon drops his head to his chest. He should know better to think gossip wouldn't get around. Instead of answering, he shrugs. Greta's stare is like a physical thing and Jon knows he's a bit of a coward for not looking up to meet it. Greta's sigh sounds almost disappointed. It makes him feel worse. "Oh Jon–"

Her voice breaks off as the door opens. Jon finally looks up, to find Brendon standing there. Greta looks back and forth between them, eyes lighting up. " _Oh_."

Jon glances at her. A smile is spreading across her face and Jon opens his mouth. To say what, he's not sure–it's not what you think, maybe? Only that's really a big fat lie. It's almost comical how quickly she's off the swing, slipping past Brendon, back into the inn. Jon knows she'll probably be watching from behind the curtains anyway.

With a sigh, he pats the spot next to him.

Tentatively, Brendon takes a seat. He doesn't say anything for the longest time, and when he does speak, it's not what Jon was expecting. "You realize you've been here for over a year?" He doesn't look at Jon, staring out across the yard. "You were a totally different person then. With reason, I know," he rushes on.

"You really kind of scared me at first. You looked–You were so sad, it hurt to look at you sometimes." Jon's throat is tight. It's not, he realizes suddenly, not because thinking about Cassie makes him sad, but that fact that Brendon sounds like it hurts _him_ , to see Jon like that. He can't say anything and Brendon doesn't speak again. They sit there in silence.

"Don't go," Brendon finally blurts out, twisting around to face Jon. He grabs at Jon's hand, twisting their fingers together. His palms are sweat, the look on his face earnest. It's open and raw, and Jon swallows hard. Hesitant, Brendon leans in. He's searching Jon's face, like he's waiting for rejection, waiting for Jon to pull back.

Jon doesn't move.

Leaning forward, Brendon brushes his mouth across Jon's. It's impossibly brief. "Please," Brendon whispers, staring intently at Jon. "Please don’t leave."

His heart is going to burst out of his chest, it's beating so hard. It takes a couple tries, and Jon has to force himself to focus, but he finally asks, "What about Spencer?"

"What _about_ Spencer?"

Jon jerks his head around to find Spencer standing at the bottom of the porch. He hadn't even heard him walk up.

"What about me?" Spencer repeats, making his way up the steps. He stops next the swing, and Jon has to tilt his head back in order to look him in the face. After a moment's hesitation–Jon can feel Brendon holding his breath next to him–Spencer bends down. He hesitates close enough that Jon can feel his breath, and Jon moves then, tilting his chin up. Spencer quits hesitating.

The kiss is different this time. More sure, harder, and Spencer curls his arm around Jon's neck, thumb resting just under his jaw. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jon thinks _smooth_. It doesn't matter though, he likes it.

Jon's vaguely aware of Bob's truck is pulling up, but it's not until the door slams that Spencer pulls away. A blush is starting to color his cheeks, and when starts to step back, Jon reaches out, wrapping a hand around his wrist. His own face is noticeably warm.

Bob stomps up the steps, suitcase in his hand. Brendon huffs out a laugh at the muttered, "Maybe the freezer will _finally_ get fixed, cripes," before Bob slams inside.

They're all holding still, embarrassed and unsure. But Spencer slides his hand until his fingers tangle with Jon's, glancing over at Brendon with a small smile.

"Man-"

They all startle at the voice. Spencer jerks, whipping his head around.

Looking around him, Jon sees a twig of a guy. He's all limbs, dressed in a hounds tooth suit. A felt hat sits on top of his head, brown hair curling out from underneath it. There's what Jon's fairly sure is a lace scarf around his throat.

"I knew you had it bad for Brendon, but I think the new guy definitely gets the beard bonus."

A disbelieving smile spread across Spencer's face.

_"Ryan?!"_

Twig-guy breaks out in grin and Spencer laughs. Moving back to the stairs, he tugs on Jon’s hand to follow. Brendon finds his other hand as they stumble off the swing, his grip almost on the uncomfortable side. This should be interesting, Jon thinks.

He finds himself looking forward to it.  


**Author's Note:**

> [what is past is prologue](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/25805.html), mix by spindlelimbs[three pieces](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/26050.html), art by amkave
> 
> [x-posted [here](http://bandombigbang.livejournal.com/132536.html) on 06/26/11]


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